


How To Say Goodbye

by Languid_Victorian_Poetess



Category: Original Work, Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Character Death, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), if you're looking for fluff it's not here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:14:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 23,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25558684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Languid_Victorian_Poetess/pseuds/Languid_Victorian_Poetess
Summary: Rogue One, but none of the same characters and they're all OCs. It's exactly what it sounds like and it ends about as well as the movie did.
Kudos: 1





	1. Not One Of Us

**Author's Note:**

> Rogue One is my favorite Star Wars movie, so I substituted my own characters in for fun. Enjoy!

“You don’t trust her,” Irie said bluntly from the pilot’s seat. “But you want to.” She twisted to face him, her black casing glinting against the white painted wings on her back. An old joke, though Irie wouldn’t tell him what it meant. Magnus thought it had something to do with whatever had occurred when she’d been repurposed from an Imperial droid to her current rebellious self. She’d never said and he hadn’t pressed.

“I don’t trust her,” Magnus grunted. He heaved a bag of supplies onto the ship. Irie’s expression didn’t change, then again she was a droid, but he could sense the waves of disapproval. She hadn’t even been in the meeting, watched the young woman’s caramel eyes turn hard. Blythe didn’t believe in their cause, but that was the face of someone who had something to fight for. That was enough for him.

“Did you ignore the second half of what I said because you don’t want to face it?” Irie couldn’t snort or roll her eyes, but the flicker of the gold flecks that served as her visual processing still got the message across. 

“I don’t want to trust her,” he countered. Another flicker of the droid’s eyes. She was laughing at him. His thoughts turned back to caramel eyes and brown streaked hair that belonged in the sun. Dark layers against light brown skin. A hard voice against soft edges, a woman of contrasts. A rebel. He’d thought that the moment he had first laid eyes on her in the transport and she’d managed to beat the hell out of them before running straight into Irie.

“Liar. Make sure you don’t. She isn’t one of us.” Irie’s metal shoulders lifted in something like a shrug, and she swiveled to face the console. He opened his mouth to retort, but stopped when Blythe clambered into the ship. 

She shot him a glance, curiosity, suspicion, uncertainty. “Captain Ayre,” a voice rang out over the bustle and clamor. Blythe dropped her gaze and he turned to meet Bennet a few feet away.

“I don’t trust her,” Magnus repeated, when he reached the old man. He crossed his arms over his chest, struggling not to turn around. He wondered if her eyes were still on him or if that was his imagination.

“I don’t care,” Bennet answered. He ran a hand through his graying hair, the wrinkles made older by his hard frown. “Listen to me, disregard what you heard in there. Your orders are to kill Galen Erso on sight. He must not be allowed to live. You find him, you kill him, then and there.”

_ But that’s her father _ , a voice in his head insisted. 

_ And the enemy _ , another argued.  _ You’re a killer, don’t forget that _ . “Yes, sir,” he said instead. That would be enough. 

Bennet nodded. “May the Force be with you.”

“And with you.” He crossed back to the ship. Irie whirred, the ship hummed, Blythe was silent. He tried not to glance at her as he sank into the seat beside Irie. It was a mistake when he realized she sat with a blaster in her lap.

“Where did you get that?” He demanded, swiveling to face her. Another mistake to tack onto his growing list. Her eyes were doing something to him. Unraveling unguarded pieces of his soul. Searching for his secrets. He set his jaw and glared back.

“I found it,” she replied. A test? Maybe. They both knew it was hardly just lying around. Had she stolen it off of someone? 

“Bullshit,” he growled.

“You know she’s going to use it against you.” Irie added. She hadn’t turned to face them, but he could hear the amusement and knew she was watching the situation carefully. Not that she was likely to defend him, if it came to a fight. She’d probably watch him die just to condescend his corpse.

“Trust goes both ways,” Blythe countered. A test then? He couldn’t tell. His mind buzzed and the ship hummed beneath him. The thoughts crammed into the pockets of silence. He tested several answers on his tongue, then let the response come on instinct.

“Keep it.”  _ It’s only fair, I’m here to kill your father _ . He clenched his jaw harder and swallowed the words. Surprise flickered across her expression, the raise of her brows, a half-twist to her lips, her fingers tightening briefly on the gun’s grip. Little movements that proved traitorous. No open book, but he was no longer just skimming her contents. He turned around.

“She’ll betray you.” Irie said. “Do you want the statistical probability?” 

“Fly the ship, Irie.” _It’s only fair,_ _I’ll betray her too_.


	2. The Force Surrounds Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's always trouble in Jedha City.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't usually post 2 chapters at once, but I just thought it'd be a nice treat for my first real story. Please enjoy and thank you for reading!

“Trade your necklace for a glimpse into your future.” Nasir called out into the crowd. His fading eyes couldn’t pick out the figure, but he could feel her, the energy that pulsed around her like another heartbeat. The kyber crystal against her skin rustled as her fingers trapped it on instinct.

“What are you doing?” Morrison hissed from the doorway. The sharpness and snap betrayed his tension and Nasir knew he was tightening his fingers on his gun. Nasir ignored his husband, offered a smile in the vague direction of the young woman and jingled his little bowl of credits.

She approached slowly, all the wariness of someone who had been hunted, but the curiosity of one who didn’t care. “How did you know I was wearing a necklace?”

Nasir smiled, one that was soft with a twinge of mischief he’d learned from his husband. For his part, Morrison remained silent, but the heat of his glare seared Nasir’s cheek and landed on the young woman. She shifted and he didn’t have to see to know she’d met his challenge head-on. 

“Blythe.” Another voice rose as a third figure pushed his way through the crowd. His tone was low, gruff, impatient. The energy twisted between her and him, two fates intertwined, two heartbeats as one. There was a weight to it, one that threatened to break each of them. Perhaps it was the weight they carried in their pasts. Perhaps it was the one they were hiding from within the Jedha crowds. Perhaps it was what they were moving towards in their future. All Nasir knew was that their burden was not one they could carry alone.

“Blythe, we have to go. Come on. We’re not here to make friends,” the young man yanked her to join the flow of marketplace traffic. She didn’t tear her gaze from Nasir’s own. 

“The strongest stars have hearts of kyber,” Nasir called after her. He felt the brunt of his words reach her and wondered how long she might turn them over in her head. Long enough, of that he was sure. 

“What was that about?” Had they been at home, Morrison would have flopped into Nasir’s lap, but he settled for dramatically sinking down onto the stoop next to him. Nasir cracked a smile and shifted, so his husband could rest his head on his shoulder.

“The Force surrounds her. I think it pulled me to her,” he answered. There was a tug in their direction, the fraying end of a connection.“We need to follow them. They need our help.” It felt more real than Morrison’s head on his shoulder, their fingers intertwined. He turned to press a quick kiss to his forehead, missing the ability to memorize his husband’s features, though they may be aging. Morrison always said he was grateful Nasir couldn’t see how his hair had turned gray and his skin began to wrinkle, that he liked to be eternally youthful in Nasir’s memory. He missed it anyway. 

“What? Why do we need to help them? Sunshine, we don’t even know them.” Exasperation, paired with a deep sigh that also signaled resignation. They both knew that all Nasir had to do was ask. Morrison might not have believed in the Force, but he believed in Nasir and that was enough, that would always be enough.

“I told you, they need our help and we need theirs. I can feel it, we need to go with them. Morrison, love, please.” He nudged Morrison off his shoulder and rose. The credits he tucked into his pocket, the bowl left out for another street beggar or perhaps a needy family. He leaned against his staff and turned back to the other man who stood with a loud groan. Morrison’s weapon rattled, the quiet tremble of his hands that spoke of war and worry.

“You always get me into such trouble, Sunshine. Come on, let’s go help your new friends.” He linked their arms and slung the gun across his back, an attempt towards acting inconspicuous. Not that inconspicuous was a particular talent of Morrison’s to begin with.

“Thank you,” Nasir grinned and brought their lips together for a quick kiss. The faint taste of alcohol mixed with smoke danced across his tongue, the lingering taste that was Morrison, joined with the Jedha City marketplace. “I love you.”

“I love you too. Just remember this for later. My birthday is coming up, you know, and I expect proper reparations to be made.”

“Of course, darling, whatever you want. After we help them. And maybe save the galaxy.”

“High aspirations. I like to keep mine low enough they feel achievable so when they don’t work out, I have another reason for my parents to be disappointed.”

Nasir chuckled and steered them down a side alley. The pull was growing stronger. This was the right path. He could feel it. “I’ll never be disappointed in you.”

“Are you sure about that? I do give you plenty of reasons to be disappointed.”

Nasir shook his head. “I like to think of them as more reasons to laugh.” 

Morrison opened his mouth to reply but it was too late. Everything had already gone to shit. 


	3. Saw Gerrera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Saw Gerrera scene in Rogue One, but not from Jyn's perspective, and people die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's our first major death scene, congratulations! Many more to come, but this is a fun way to kick us off, please enjoy.

_ Blythe Erso _ , the whispers carried through the doors, between the guards, ruffling feathers and jittering rifles.  _ It’s her, it’s Blythe Erso _ . The tension coiled between hallways, layering across doorways, oppressing every inch of the base. It was almost as if everyone was collectively holding their breaths. She’d arrive soon enough. Years too late, but moments too soon. Funny, how it all worked out.

Rowan paced the floor, uneven steps, heavy tread from the limp. He dragged the anxiety and stress into the room, driving it into the path he was wearing into the stone. His breaths were ragged, as uneven as his steps, filling the silence. He had rolled up his sleeves and the thin silver scars that ran over his arms winked in the dim light. For his part, Oliver was seated at the table, feet propped up, reading material resting against his knees. His fingers idly toyed with his short ponytail, long since streaked with lines of gray. He didn’t wear his scars as openly as Rowan, but his eyes no longer twinkled with stars of mirth and laughter. His eyes scanned the page, but the knots in his shoulders betrayed his own concern. Aiza leaned with her shoulder against the wall, cleaning her rifle with the slow methodical pace that spoke of years of practice. Her eyes flicked between her husbands and the door, listening hard for footsteps in the corridor. 

They dragged her inside.  _ Blythe Erso _ , the whispers trailed on the wisps of her hair and followed in her shadows.  _ Blythe Erso _ , girl with the spark in her eyes, head held high in her handcuffs, straight spine and steady heart. She’d grown up pretty in the 3? 5 years? Since they’d last seen her. No less rebellious though, that was obvious in the tense set to her mouth and wildfire blazing in her eyes. That was trouble walking back through their door and Aiza knew it, even if Rowan and Oliver didn’t.

“Blythe!” Oliver smiled and set aside his holo with an almost rehearsed ease. “It’s good to see you, you look well.”  _ Yeah, not like the rest of us _ ,  Aiza added mentally, but smartly kept her mouth shut.

“Is it really you?” Rowan paused in his worn path across the floor to drink her in. There was a seed of disbelief in his voice, almost shock that the young woman had survived. Aiza held back a snort. Of course it was the little troublemaker waltzing back into their lives. Who else could it be?

“Must be quite a surprise,” Blythe answered. Her voice was chilly, the cold wind of bitterness held close to her chest over the years. Oliver had the grace to look guilty in his tired frown. Rowan even had the nerve to dip his head. Aiza bit back another series of retorts, Oliver’s warning still fresh in her mind. They had to be delicate about this.

“Are we not still friends? Family?” Oliver tried on a placating smile, but it didn’t fit the sorrow in his warm brown eyes. The memory of their arguments over the girl lingered, heavy as ever. 

“The last time I saw you, you gave me a knife and a loaded blaster and told me to wait in a bunker til daylight. You left me behind.” Blythe countered and took a step forward. The ice gave way to the spark, the fire that Aiza had once stoked. There she was, the rebel beneath the woman. It was good to know that it hadn’t all been for nothing.

“It was for your own safety. We were protecting you,” Oliver was pleading, searching for some kind of forgiveness, absolution. He’d always been their heart. With a grunt of effort, he removed his feet from the table and stood.

“No, you dumped me! What, couldn’t handle the responsibility?” Blythe’s eyes locked on her own and Aiza set her rifle against the wall to step into the center of the room. The girl’s eyes widened, taking in her broken pieces from a war that had gone on for so long.   
“You’re stupid if you think that.” Aiza growled and crossed her arms over her chest. “You think that your false names are enough to protect you forever? You’re the daughter of an Imperial scientist, and that kind of information doesn’t stay secret.”

“People were finding out and they wanted to use you as a hostage. If we didn’t send you away... there was no guarantee we could protect you anymore,” Rowan added.

“Not a day goes by that we don’t think of you,” Oliver finished and stepped forward as if to embrace Blythe. She took a step back, maintaining her distance. Smart. Maybe the first smart thing she’d done since entering the room.

The silence persisted, heavy, a raging sandstorm. The emotions tangled between them, years worth of secrets and pent-up feelings remaining unspoken. Blythe’s eyes flicked between the three of them, searching for answers that none of them really had. Why had they made that impossible decision? Why, how, could she forgive them? Her torment was too obvious in the deep frown on her mouth and battle within the stoked fire of soft eyes.  _ Too damn bad _ , Aiza thought, but held her tongue.

“I thought you didn’t want the title of Saw Gerrera,” Blythe said at last. Her cutting tone was lost to resignation. A hint of forgiveness maybe? Reluctance? Aiza couldn’t be sure, she’d have to ask Oliver later.

“We needed a rallying cry. Everyone remembers what happened to Saw and his rebels.” Rowan shrugged.

“That and Oliver, Rowan, and Aiza’s rebellion seemed like a mouthful,” Oliver added with his trademark smirk. It was weak, but still summoned a hint of a smile to Blythe’s face. 

Another bout of silence took over and the four of them shifted uneasily. It had been too long with too many years in between, their old jokes and ease slipping through the cracks of secrets and frustration. There were owed apologies and a thousand other things, but no one seemed to have the courage to start.

“It’s a trap, isn’t it? The pilot. The message. All of it.” Rowan said and tapped his fingers anxiously against his leg. The change in subject felt almost welcome now that they had a purpose. Business was easy, it had no feelings.

“Of course it’s a trap,” Aiza scoffed. She tossed Rowan a look and his stormy gaze clashed back, the familiar leap of blue lightning that betrayed his irritation. “What do you want, Blythe?”

“I’m just here to give the rebels an introduction and I’m out. My job’s done,” she answered. “Your alliance, your rebellion, all it’s ever caused me is pain.” Her mother’s ghost echoed in her voice and her father’s eyes pierced the three of them. 

The girl could be right and still be a coward, but Oliver intercepted before Aiza could make the accusation. “You can stand to see the Imperial flag rain across the galaxy?”

“It’s not a problem if you don’t look up,” Blythe remarked. The ringing belief didn’t reach her eyes and it was clear she was at a crossroads. All she had to do was take a step. Or get shoved in the right direction, that tended to work too. Aiza preferred the shove.

“We taught you better than that,” Aiza retorted.

“Z.” Oliver sighed. “Blythe, come with me, I have something to show you.” He wheezed and floundered for the mask on his suit to refill his breath. Rowan stepped forward, but Oliver waved his husband off and staggered his way to the next room with Blythe on his heels. 

Aiza and Rowan exchanged a brief glance before watching them go. They’d seen the message six times already, the words permanently ingrained in each of their brains. She didn’t have the strength to see it again and instead slumped down into Oliver’s abandoned chair. Rowan came up behind her and rested a hand on her shoulder.

“Do you think we made the right choice?” He asked and sank onto the arm of the chair. She leaned into his side, searching for the certainty she’d held five years ago when the two of them still had the energy to fight each other. That had been lost with Oliver’s lungs and Rowan’s leg. 

“Honestly? I don’t know anymore.” She turned her face into his shirt and inhaled the thick scent of metal, fuel, and desert that clung to his clothing and hair. His hand ran down her back in slow lines, an old method of comfort from back when the rebellion was new and they were all still full of hope.

The building rumbled, a growing thunder, a fearsome storm. They were up in an instant, before Oliver shouted both of their names. They burst into the other room, jostling for a view of the window, the upended earth, the rippling explosion. The end. No longer years away but minutes, if they were lucky. Seconds if they weren’t. Aiza thought it would be minutes. Oliver coughed and reached out to grip her hand, the squeeze tight enough to hurt. She squeezed back and kept her eyes pinned to the horizon that was only getting closer.

“Blythe! Blythe! Come on, we have to go. We have to go right now,” an unfamiliar voice and unfamiliar footsteps, but that didn’t matter. They were dead anyway. “We have to go, I know where your father is, we have to go.” Desperate, the sound of scraping feet against the sand contrasting the deep snarl of destruction and breaking stone. They were really going to die.

“Come with us. Come with me,” Blythe said and Aiza could hear her stop, not even five feet away. Rowan and Oliver were already facing her when Aiza finally tore her gaze from the outside. The apologies were traded in small glances and fearful tics. Their little rebel girl reached out a hand and crossed back, closing it over Rowan’s wrist. The tears glistened in her eyes because she knew. She knew before uttered a word.

“We won’t make it,” Aiza said. The words were thick, a croak, a hopeless noise. She gestured to Oliver’s chest and Rowan’s legs. They’d never make it. “Go, Blythe, just go.”

“Save the rebellion,” Rowan told her. He pried Blythe’s fingers off his wrist and wrapped his arms around his husband and wife at his side. The strange young man’s eyes darted to the window and he didn’t hesitate, pulling Blythe along into the corridor. To freedom. To life. To hope.

“Save the dream,” Oliver yelled, but his voice cracked horribly on the last word. “We love you!”

Aiza made to turn back to the window, to watch everything they’d built and destroyed approach to kill them. The irony wasn’t lost on her and she fought back the insane urge to laugh and the worse urge to cry. It was Oliver who steered her to meet his waiting lips, the salty taste of tears on her tongue, the quake of lips that had nothing to do with the shaking ground. He pulled back and a waiting torrent of words fell from his mouth as he met both of their eyes in turn. “I love you, I love you both so much, I love you, I-”

Rowan cut him off with a kiss of his own, Aiza trapped at his side, Oliver squeezing the life of her hands. The heat was at her back, closer, soon, oh so soon. So soon. Rowan broke away, Oliver’s tears shining on his bottom lip. “I’m glad I got to spend my life with the two of you,” Rowan said and pressed a final kiss to Aiza’s own lips that tasted of the past and youthful brimstone screaming matches. Or maybe she was just tasting the memories.

“It will always be us. Together.” Aiza whispered. They leaned into one another, three foreheads touching, holding each other tight enough to hurt, tight enough to feel alive, eyes open to make sure they didn’t miss a single second, her words still ringing in their ears, a quick glance to see how quickly it was all approaching, an involuntary defiant line forming of them together to face their deaths head on, hands still together always, smelling smoke, dust, tasting fire, the world cascading around them-

And then there was darkness, weightlessness, a final roar, being torn apart. Then, nothing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I appreciate any and all feedback. I've decided you'll be getting another chapter tomorrow, if you're interested.


	4. Watching The World Crumble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not everyone lost is remembered. Some of Saw's rebels get caught in the crossfire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, 2 chapters in 2 days. I just like posting these.
> 
> Anyway, we have another death scene! Please enjoy!

When the first grains of sand interrupted her reading, Eliza chocked it up to a fight in the levels above. Or maybe someone had left a hatch open by accident and a sandstorm had blown in. The men were always doing that, forgetting to close things, getting into fights, never following the rules. In another minute, Aiza would march down the steps in her cold voice and issue the orders, maybe even fire a shot off for emphasis while Rowan stoically watched from over her shoulder. Then everyone would scuttle off to do this and that and Eliza would smile because she knew how to listen to a few simple instructions. But that wasn’t what happened.

The ground didn’t just shake, the whole building rattled like a child with a broken toy. Arabella, who’d been braiding Nellie’s hair while Eliza sprawled across both their laps, let go of the strands. It was serious then, more serious than hair braiding which Eliza had learned to never ever interrupt unless in case of emergency. Well, an Arabella kind of emergency which usually meant fresh orders from Saw Gerrera or a fight on behalf of her girlfriends. A cute line in her book did not count as an emergency, apparently.

Eliza bookmarked her page with a tap on the holo and sat up. The others had moved to the windows and were blocking the light and view outside. “What’s going on?” Nellie asked, to no one in particular, and was met only with a silence that could be described as awe.

“Stay here.” Arabella instructed and left their seats to shove her way to a place in the crowd where she could see. Not that that would take long, Arabella was the tallest of the trio and probably the strongest too. Strong enough to handle whatever was going on outside.

“Bella?” Eliza said after a moment and draped her head against the back of the bench to watch the group of people, who looked rather funny upside-down. 

That was when the chaos started. The screams were distant, like tuning in to an old station, then louder as reality slammed into the group all at once. There was a mad dash for the stairs and doors, people fleeing, a rising tide of panic that Eliza didn’t understand until she caught a glimpse between the thick press of bodies.  _ Oh _ , she thought.  _ Oh _ .  _ Well then _ .

She sat up and felt a hand tight on her bicep. At first, she thought it might be Nellie’s. She turned and met Arabella’s eyes, darting and quick, unfocused. Was she talking? Eliza thought she might be, her mouth was moving but no sound was coming out and that was concerning. Not as much as what was happening outside. Should she be moving? 

“Eliza!” Nellie was shaking her shoulders as she snapped back to attention. “Come on, we have to go.” She’d already grabbed their bags and Arabella was at the door. Nellie was always so helpful. Eliza opened her mouth to tell Nellie how helpful she was and then decided now probably wasn’t the time. Was it wrong to feel this calm? Or was this her way of panicking? It was possible, she’d never been in a situation this desperate that Arabella couldn’t get them out of. She was good at that.

They were running. Eliza couldn’t remember getting up or anything in the last few minutes really. It was all a blur. A lot of stairs. Who had designed this place with so many stairs? “Where are we going?”

“The ship!” Nellie yelled and jumped the next flight. Was the lift broken? Eliza thought it might be, the building was shaking an awful lot. Or maybe everyone else had jammed their way in and left no room. That sounded right. Or it was Arabella’s doing, she always said she never trusted the lifts.

“But… it’s back in Jedha City?” Eliza pointed out and did her best to scurry after them. 

“Then we’ll find a ship, any ship.” Nellie insisted with the desperation that came with the end. Eliza knew, she’d read about it quite a lot. It sounded more gravelly in real life, but maybe that was the base threatening to crush the three of them.

“I thought we weren’t allowed to bring any ship too close. Aren’t they all far away?” It was one of the rules, and even rarer, one that was followed perfectly. Don’t land a ship too close, it would be visible and then the Empire troops would knock on their doorstep and Aiza would probably kill the man who’d done it herself. After all, it was easy to see a ship, but hard to see the thin line of people crossing the horizon amid the dunes. Except there wasn’t much of a horizon anymore. Or really, the horizon was trying to kill them.

“We have to try!” Arabella said, but it came out a screech. The sound hurt her ears and Eliza wanted to cover them, but didn’t want to make Arabella angrier. “We have to try!”

“Bella, if we run ahead, we might be able to get a ship,” Nellie said and hopped another flight. She had shot Eliza a quick glance that plain and simple spoke volumes of survival. And Eliza wasn’t good at it. They said she tended to lose it, that was how she coped. It made sense. 

“Eliza, babe, meet us outside. Nellie, let’s go.” Arabella barked it like an order and then they were gone. Eliza blinked and wondered if she’d made them up. They’d been good girlfriends, it wouldn’t be all that surprising if she had. She remembered she was in danger and hurried down the next few steps. There was a taste in her mouth like acid and she wondered if it was adrenaline or blood or maybe both. She thought about closing her eyes and pretending she was back upstairs with her book, but thought Arabella would get mad. And even if she was a phantom, Eliza didn’t want to risk making her mad.

The climb down the stairs felt like it took hours, a dizzying spiral until her feet struck solid ground and she raced to the open door. The room was a mess, spilled drinks that dripped lazily onto the floor, an unfinished game with bets still stacked on the table, stray weapons, the acrid smell of smoke.  _ Someone ought to tidy up, _ she thought dimly and then she hit the crumbling world outside.

Arabella and Nellie, both very real, stood in an empty graveyard of ships. Thirty feet to their left, a young woman was yanked inside by a dark haired man, the door closing before any of them could so much as move towards it. Eliza couldn’t blame them, they probably hadn’t even seen her, let alone Arabella and Nellie. That was okay. Maybe they were more important.

In the distance, the world groaned. Arabella had Nellie in a death grip, Eliza could tell, not because she could see it, but because she knew her girlfriends like that. Arabella would be white knuckles and desperate kisses, probably muttering something like  _ we should have gotten married back on Yavin 4 when we had the chance _ . 

Nellie would shrug and tell her that it was all okay.  _ I’m happy to have gotten to love the both of you, thank you for letting me in _ . That was something she’d say. Something soft and sweet. It was probably best that she was back here, she’d recite some sappy poetry that always made Arabella roll her eyes.

The dying world swallowed them first. Eliza had to watch, unable to look away, hardly aware she had screamed or dropped to her knees. The tidal wave of broken people, ships, buildings that crushed them both, dragging them into a churning sea of death. She thought she saw Arabella’s last attempt at a smile, protecting Nellie and clutching her tight to her chest like it would be enough. Arabella, always protecting them. And helpful Nellie. She loved them both. She wished she could have said it one last time, but at least they knew.

It was her turn. It was almost welcome, at least now she’d never have to live without them, wonder how much was a dream and reality, slip into fiction and another world to forget that she’d once held true love in her hands. The ground scratched her knees and she squeezed her eyes shut, pretending that Arabella was crushing her in a death grip hug of  _ what were you thinking, Eliza _ or that Nellie was cuddling her tight in her  _ it’s okay, just a bad dream, I’m here now too, it’s okay, I’ll stay here, go back to sleep _ . It was enough. The fantasy held, even when the planet didn’t, and the last thing she saw was Nellie’s smile and Arabella’s laugh. 

That was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for anyone reading, I'm just excited to finally start sharing my writing!


	5. It's Only Fair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets come out and there's a fight in close quarters after a narrow escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We take a break from some deaths for a minor rewrite of one of my favorite scenes. I actually did a lot of research on Jyn Erso's life before the rebellion, so a lot of the things Blythe says are actually based on canon. Plus, of course, there's a few lines straight from the movie. As always, I hope you enjoy!

The water ran off of them in rivulets, striking the metal of the ship with a soft chorus as they each wrung out wet hair and clothes. The silence was surprising and oppressive, not even Theo tried to break it with useless nervous chatter. Even talkative Morrison was quiet, watching both him and Blythe with renewed interest from his spot with his head in Nasir’s lap. The young woman in question was facing the wall, body quaking with little tremors and shivers, as though there was something she was trying to contain and lock away. Magnus blinked and refocused his attention on hanging up his rifle and sliding out of his coat.

“You lied to me.” Blythe turned to face him suddenly. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, as though she was barely resisting the urge to punch him. Her hair hung lank and framed her face, too pale in the eerie lighting of the stolen ship. Her topaz eyes glittered like cold stone, the righteous fury as haunting as his finger on the trigger as the rain slid down his cheeks like unformed tears.

“You’re in shock,” he answered and shook the rain from his jacket. It wasn’t a lie. She was in shock. The image of her bent over the body of her father, her hands pressed to his cheeks, begging for him to come back, uncaring if she lived or died, rose unbidden to the front of his mind. He pushed it away and tried not to care, even as another answer pushed against his lips.  _ I tried to call it off. For you _ .

“You went up there to kill my father.” Not a question, a statement. Her voice shook and he risked a glance to see her standing firm. Unwavering. The rain kissed her cheeks and ran new paths that looked so much like tears he ached to brush away. Theo made a noise somewhere between a gasp and a squeak and that shook Magnus back to reality.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He shook his head and wet dark locks obscured his vision. He impatiently pushed them aside, barely registering that Blythe had drawn a few steps closer. She had to tilt her chin to meet his eyes and the action made her fierce. 

“Deny it.” Not the petulant tone of a child, the command to a soldier. The grief of a lost daughter. The pain of a woman who had lost the little she had left. The fragments and scars of the war were obvious in her too hard stance, as though she was forcing herself to stand tall and firm. Magnus thought it made her more vulnerable.  _ Tell me you didn’t just betray me _ , she said in the aftershocks of pain threading golden cracks in her eyes. 

_ I can’t _ , he wanted to say.  _ I can’t, but I tried to make up for it, I didn’t kill him and I saved you, doesn’t that count for something? _

“You’re in shock and looking for some place to put it.” He scowled back and hung his jacket, taking the risk of turning away. The ship rattled against the storm and for a moment, they were back on the platform with him pulling her along desperately, the fear thick in his throat as the heat of the explosions struck. She’d almost died. The worst part was that she’d almost died and it would have been his fault. He remembered the way he had yelled her name, feeling it scrape and bloody his throat in its desperation to escape and hear her call back. She hadn’t. He’d fought to reach her anyway.

“You lied. To me.” Blythe dragged him back from the memories, though the heat of the fire still reflected in the shadows of her face. Nasir shifted uncomfortably and clenched Morrison’s hand with white knuckles. Maybe it was an effort to keep his husband out of the conversation. Magnus couldn’t even summon a hint of gratitude. Blythe never looked away, assaulting him with her grief and guilt, finding a set of shoulders to rest it on that wasn’t her own. If she was looking for it to eat them both alive, it was working.

“I had every chance to pull the trigger, but did I?” She didn’t answer. “Did I?”  _ I didn’t because all I could think of was you, all I could think of was asking you to lose something else and I couldn’t do it. Damn you, Blythe Erso, I couldn’t do it _ .

“You might as well have,” she declared and it felt like a condemnation. She wasn’t wrong. That didn’t stop his anger from stirring and clogging his senses.

“I had orders, orders that I disobeyed. But you wouldn’t understand that,” he snapped back. There was a sharp intake of breath, he thought it might have been Nasir. Theo was edging further and further away from them, looking despondently trapped in the small ship. 

Blythe’s eyes flashed and when she jutted her chin out, she looked defiant. He could taste the mistake before she spoke. “Orders? When you know they’re wrong? You might as well be a stormtrooper.”

“What do you know?” He whirled on her, hands shaking. The dead whispered in his ears and filled the hollow silences. Their phantom images danced around her, the things he’d done, they never went away. What did she know? What did any of them know? What was right and what was wrong, that didn’t matter, it was about orders, someone else making the decisions. He just had to know how to pull the trigger. “We don’t all have the luxury of deciding when and where we want to care about something. Suddenly the rebellion is real for you. Some of us live it. I’ve been in this fight since I was six years old. You’re not the only one who lost everything. Some of us just decided to do something about it.” He shoved past her, but she spun to meet him.

“Don’t you dare.” He had never heard her voice sound that cold, even as the rest of her blazed. Hard fire and cold rain, coiled fists and mirror images in the small space. The others were holding their breath. So was he. “You’re right, I’m not the only one who lost everything, there’s a galaxy of people like you and me. I spent my life helping people like them, like us. Those crimes your precious alliance loves to lord over my head were never about me.” He opened his mouth to deny it, call her a liar, but remembered the way she’d burst from their hiding place to save the little girl on Jedha. The list of her crimes lingered in his mind and he could attribute an image to each: petty theft with her gentle smile as she passed a bundle of food to a family of refugees, forging Imperial documents to stow away scared civilians and help them escape the war, aggravated assault against Imperials to protect the innocent and fearful. “Don’t you ever presume to know me, Captain Ayre. And don’t think you can talk your way out of this.”

“I don’t have to.” He sneered and pushed past her again. This time, she let him go. The room let out a breath. The tension still hung like a taunt and fraying rope. No one else moved.

Theo was hunched so far over the communication terminal, he looked like he was attempting to disappear. Morrison appeared to be attempting to hold back a snicker of amusement and it was only Nasir’s hard glare that managed to keep him silent. Magnus stormed to Theo’s side to bark his orders, watching Blythe settle on the floor, as far away from him as she could get. Irie’s mechanical voice echoed in his head.  _ She’ll betray you _ . 

_ It’s only fair _ , he had almost said,  _ I’ll betray her too _ . In a way, he thought they had betrayed each other.

The ride back to Yavin 4 was tense and quiet, but it was only her silence that managed to hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I really love sharing my work with all of you and hope you'll keep reading! <3


	6. Don't Make Me Say Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone needs a little hope. Magnus and Blythe get the moment that Jyn and Cassian deserved, but never got to have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's time for some soft hours. Obviously all of this is just made up, but I hope you enjoy it anyway!

Blythe found Magnus hunched over the table with Theo and Irie tucked away amid the crates of the hanger in some back corner. Irie was packing the smuggled equipment into containers to be lifted onto their waiting ship. Theo chewed on his fingernails as he crossed items off the list of materials he’d need.  _ The odds are too great _ , they’d told her in the stuffy council room. Maybe that was true, but here were people willing to try anyway.

Idly, Magnus tapped the holo at his side, a quick check at the timer they’d set. Their three hours were nearly up. It wasn’t enough time, it would probably never be enough time, but it would have to do.  _ The odds are too great _ . But rebellions are built on hope. And if there was one thing they had in spades, it was hope. Although for what came next, she might have to borrow a few extra scraps.

“Captain Ayre,” Blythe called and stepped into their “base” of operations. Theo startled and bolted upright so his leg smacked into a crate. Pale cheeks flushed red and he scrubbed bloody hands down his face to chase it away. Soft green eyes peeked out between his fingers and his grin was sheepish. Irie, on the other hand, didn’t even spare her a glance. Her gaze fell on Magnus last and she watched his hand slide off his blaster as the tension in his shoulders uncoiled. 

“Blythe! You scared us,” Theo managed from behind his hands.

“No. She scared you. Not that that’s much of a challenge.” Irie made a sound that might have been a scoff. The air was heavy with a cloying scent, one that overpowered the fuel and metal of the hanger, and it took Blythe a second glance to realize someone had painted over Irie’s white wings.

“Irie, your wings,” she said softly and stepped towards the droid. 

“Don’t be so sentimental. It’s necessary. Now why are you here, other than to waste valuable time we don’t have?” Blythe had never known that a droid could sound so disdainful, yet Irie managed it with ease. Almost as easily as she deflected Blythe’s comment.

“I wanted to speak to you-um Captain Ayre.” She tried on a smile and felt it wobble with nerves. “If you, I mean we, if we can spare a few minutes.” 

“Can we spare a few minutes?” His hair hung in gray eyes that never left hers, even as the question was posed to the room. He looked different without what she’d come to think of as his trademark scowl. Lighter, maybe, more like the man that had told her that rebellions are built on hope with such fierce belief. 

“No.” Irie answered.

“I-I… um, I think we can manage it? Just… uh just for a few minutes.” Theo stammered and when Irie swiveled to face him, he let out a little squeak.

“Irie, you’re in charge. Finish the final checks and have some of the men help you load up the ship. Theo, go find Morrison and Nasir and have them triple check you have what you need. Don’t rush, we’re trying not to get caught.” Magnus gave the orders brusquely, his voice taking on a gravelly quality. 

“Fine. You have ten minutes.” Irie replied and Blythe could have sworn she was rolling her eyes at them. 

“I don’t recall you giving the orders around here.” Blythe said and put her hands on her hips.

“Magnus did put me in charge,” Irie countered. 

“Don’t let it go to your head.” Magnus rolled his eyes and grabbed his jacket off the table. “Let’s talk outside.” 

“Yes, let’s do that.” She agreed and fell into step beside him. They joined the flow of idle traffic, people milling around the hanger with sharp whispers falling from their lips and sharper glances tossed their way. Magnus stared ahead, his scowl back like a suit of armor, and his eyes dark. Blythe quickened her steps and pretended not to notice, snatches of conversations reaching her in hushed tones. 

_ Wanted us to go on a suicide mission… _

_ She’s right! _

_...a petty criminal _

_ Then what are we here fighting for? _

It was a relief to make it outside, the sunshine fresh on her cheeks, the air still heavy with the eyes burning into her back, but easier to ignore. Magnus led her around the side of the temple to an alcove in the chipped stone. It was quieter here and she was able to hear the accelerated beat of her heart, or maybe that was just her imagination. 

He leaned back against the stone, shoulder against a pillow of moss. The wind teased dark fringe and the sun cast light on his face, the first time she could ever say he looked soft. The world was more vibrant and Magnus looked more alive, but perhaps that was just how everything looked before you went to die. His low voice stirred her from her thoughts. “So, you wanted to talk?”

She straightened her shoulders and clasped her hands together to keep herself from fidgeting. “I wanted to apologize. You know, for earlier, back on Eadu. There’s a lot of things I shouldn’t have said and I know you’re right, I was just looking for a place to put the blame. I’m sorry, Magnus, for what I said.”

He raised a brow, lips barely parted in what she thought might have been surprise. “You were worried about that? I wouldn’t- I don’t hold it against you, if that’s what you’re thinking. You had every right to be furious and still do. I wouldn’t blame you. If you hated me.”

“Hate you? No, I couldn’t hate you. Why would you think that?” She squeezed her hands together to keep herself from reaching for him, concentrating instead on the furrow of his dark brows, the way his frown made his trim beard look darker like a shadow. 

His laugh was brittle and he had tensed again. “I played a part in your father’s death, Blythe. And that’s only the terrible things I’ve done to you.” He had his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jacket. Her fingers twitched again with the urge to reach for them. “I’m sorry about your father.”

“You were right, it’s not that simple.” She shrugged. The air was growing too hot and the back of her neck itched. The desire to do something foolish felt overwhelming, as oppressive as the eyes of the council or the Alliance members in the hanger. “It’s… it’s okay. A part of me knows I lost him a long time ago. It was never anyone’s fault but the Empire’s.”

“Maybe it is that simple.” He paused, shook his head, locked his jaw. The grey in his eyes reminded her of weathered metal, beaten down by the world. He hesitated, measuring the words on his tongue. “You shouldn’t be the only one apologizing for what was said. I’m sorry too, I was out of line.” 

She was grateful for the change in topic and joined him against the wall to give herself an excuse to nudge his shoulder. It was easier than the grief and piling regrets. “Yeah, you were out of line. Thankfully, you’ve come to your senses.”

His surprise gave way to a laugh, the first she’d heard. It was as steady as the rest of him, a comforting sound that reminded her distinctly of the way he’d said  _ welcome home _ to her just a short time ago.

She looked away, focusing instead on the vivid green of the trees and the way the leaves danced. “I just wanted to say it, before we left and I didn’t have another chance.” 

_ The odds are too great _ . 

_ Foolish thing, she wants to try and fight _ . 

_ There is no hope _ . 

The words still rang loud in her ears, their doubts heavy on her heart and shoulders. She had to believe enough for all of them, but she wasn’t stupid. Even if they pulled it off, there was a very real chance that they might not come back. Blythe shoved it to the back of her mind with the death of her father. She couldn’t afford the distraction.

“I’m glad you did,” he said and it was quiet. When she finally turned back to him, Blythe found that he was studying her. It was close to the look he’d given her when he brought her their army, an intensity and ferocity, a belief carved into his every feature. Was this how it felt to be worshipped? Her heart hammered off-beat in her chest, sweat gathering in her hands as she squeezed them tighter. The urge to kiss him was back, or maybe it hadn’t gone away since the moment he’d said  _ we’d like to volunteer _ .

“Magnus, I didn’t just bring you out here to apologize, there’s something else I wanted to-” He moved before she registered what was happening. His fingers were splayed against her cheek, the tips just brushing her hairline. He had his other arm around her waist, his hand centered on the small of her back, pulling her forward with the same intensity and inevitability as gravity. And he was kissing her. It was chaste, soft, unsure, waiting for her to shove him away. Blythe locked her hands against the back of his neck and kissed him back.

He tasted like the bite of metal and an endless expanse of something cosmic. There was a sweetness to him, a hidden layer that she discovered when she urged him closer and threaded her fingers through his hair. It was subtle, a familiar taste like oranges in the summertime, something delicate. 

Magnus’s hand dropped from her cheek and her mouth was suddenly cold with the absence of his. She leaned in to find it again and instead had to bite back a shriek as he lifted her up. Her eyes flew open and met a spinning world and his steady grin as he twirled her around. “Magnus!” It came out breathless, on the verge of a laugh or a series of giggles.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” In another instant, he set her back down and stepped back, hands up as he backed away. It was all over so fast. He had left her dizzy with exhilaration. She pressed a hand to the stone to keep herself upright and tried to find something to focus on. “I shouldn’t have done that. It was stupid and presumptious. Are you alright?”

Her hand shot out and closed over his arm before he could escape her range. She stumbled back into him, grinning wildly. “I’m fine, better than fine, I’m great. Amazing. Fantastic. And rambling, I’m rambling.” Her laugh was giddy and she tightened her grip on his arm. “Don’t be stupid, I’m glad you did. So glad.” She met his eyes and the effect was sobering. “Don’t be sorry.”

“Not even for interrupting you?”

“Maybe a little bit for interrupting me.”

“What… what were you going to tell me?”

“That you’re my home now.” She hadn’t meant to blurt it, but there it was. Unpoetic and blunt, she wanted to take it back and reshape the words into something more elegant and worthy of the kiss. “The only steady thing in this wild, dizzying galaxy of ours.”

“You terrify me.” He dropped his forehead to hers, eyes closed, and tangled their hands together. She wondered if he could feel her pulse stuttering against her skin.

“You know, that’s not the typical response to this kind of declaration. Should I be insulted?”

He groaned. “Are you going to let me finish?”

“Maybe.”

He opened his eyes and met hers. “You terrify me because you’re everything and have been for… since we met. The hardest part has been watching you throw yourself into danger because you’re so selfless you can’t help yourself. You’re fierce, beautiful, challenging, strong. You embody hope. You are my hope.” There was a breathless quality to the way he said it, a kind of awe that enraptured her as much as the way he was looking at her.

She smiled and raised a hand to run down his cheek. “Well, rebellions are built on hope.”

“Then I suppose you’re my rebel.” He kissed her slowly, the type of kiss that promised a lifetime more. She sank into it, letting his promises wash over her, as though it were all that easy. 

Something crackled faintly, muffled static. Her hands slipped to his waist, fumbling for his comms, hoping to block out the incoming message before he noticed. When his fingers closed around her wrist and he pulled away, she could only smile. 

Irie’s voice managed to sound exasperated and too loud against the echoing stone alcove. “Magnus.  _ Magnus _ . I will just leave you both here, don’t test me. We’re ready.”

“You could put her on mute,” Blythe teased and reached for the device. 

Magnus rolled his eyes and held it out of her reach. “Alright, alright. Irie, we’re coming.”

“Finally.” The droid hung up without further comment, leaving them alone in the quiet again. 

He turned back to her, the grey of his eyes that reminded her of standing at the edge of the bluffs with the roiling fog and the thunderous sea somewhere below. His smile was fading and he slowly distangled her from his embrace. “We should get back.” He said it casually, or attempted to, if not for the burr in his voice, scratching his words. He stepped into the light.

“Wait.” She followed him and let the sun strike her hard. The light stole the shadows from his face and bathed him in a sea of gold. She thought then that this might have been how he would look in the early dawn, less serious, splayed across her pillows with the light carving out his dark features. He dispelled her image with a raise of his brow and she pressed on hurriedly. “This isn’t… we’re-it’s not… We’re not saying goodbye. You can’t make me say goodbye when we’ve barely said hello.”

“Of course not,” he shook his head and set his jaw with fierce determination. “We’re saying you give me something to hope for.”

“I like that.” Blythe offered him a smile and, for an instant, was rewarded with one of his. It was a little bit like magic, unearthing a buried treasure.

Irie’s voice returned to fill the air between them and shatter whatever moment they were having.“Magnus. I’m not going to say it again, stop chatting with your mission failure and get your ass over here.”

She leaned over his comm before he could stop her. “Irie, you’re killing the moment.”

“Good.” The comms clicked off again with an air of impatience. For a droid, she was rather good at expressing displeasure and irritation.

His smile had slipped and he shook his head. “We should go. But, rebel?”

“Yes?”

“Try to be selfish enough to come back.”

She wanted to laugh, tell him that what he wanted wasn’t possible and bit back the words. 

_ The odds are too great, you won’t make it back.  _

_ I’ll do what I have to. Whatever it takes _ . 

Instead, she gave him a tenacious grin and forced every ounce of hope she possessed into her expression. They had to believe, even if their hearts said differently. “Then don’t ever waver. We have this.”

_ This isn’t goodbye _ . She entwined their hands and tugged him towards the waiting ship.  _ This is you giving me something to hope for _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're looking for more death scenes, we'll get back to them very soon... Anyway, thank you so much for reading!


	7. Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The calm before the storm. A pair of pilots prepare for the assault on Scarif.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our last soft scene... for the rest of the fic. This is actually my favorite of the couples just because they're also my longest ongoing ship. Please enjoy!
> 
> Edit: Brief edits made to formatting.

_ All pilots, please report to your ships. All pilots, please report to your ships. All pilots, please report to your ships. Further instructions will be provided by your squadron leaders en route. _

The voice was cold and metallic, ringing hollowly amid the hanger. The bustle of activity joined the clamor and rose in a symphony of shouts, clunk of machinery, and growl of engines. A blur of orange flight suits passed in clumps, brief goodbyes and coarse laughter between idling fighters. Jezabel always said the orange looked tacky, but Leo thought that the brightness helped. It was a nice contrast to the cold, dark, endless grips of space.

The fight was closing it, it was all too evident in adrenaline smiles and impatient tapping feet. He spotted her perched on the edge of her cockpit as she ran through her final checks. Her black hair was swept to the side, clinging to her in a low ponytail, with loose strands stuck to her cheeks. The neon orange suit calmed her hard edges, softened the cutting shape of her chin and cheekbones, flattered her muscled frame. The long sleeves were tied around her waist, rather than around her shoulders. She always preferred to wait until the last minute to put her suit on, as if that might prolong the start of the battle. Dark brown eyes, like coffee dregs or wet sand, were focused on her console, the blinking lights reflected in their depths. Her R3 unit chirped loudly as he ran what Leo assumed to be the diagnostics.

“Hey, hey, Jez!” Leo called and shoved his way through the rest of the crowd. Her head shot up, eyes latching onto his frame almost immediately and he watched as she broke into a wide grin. She slid down the ladder, black boots slamming onto the concrete to meet him. Her R3 unit beeped and rattled in annoyance. "Oh for fuck's sake, it'll only take a minute. Run your checks again and stop chastising me," she was saying as he broke through the rest of the crowd. “Hey there, hotshot.”

“Hey there, yourself,” he answered. He readjusted the helmet under his arm and risked a glance up at her X-Wing. It looked polished and clean, as prepared as she was.

“What, upset this cockpit’s too small for two people? Afraid I can’t handle myself?” She flashed him another smile, the upturned edges coming off as cocky. She crossed her arms over her chest, tilted her chin up, and he felt his breath stall. Was she allowed to be this heart wrenchingly beautiful?

“Aw, Jez, ya know I’d never doubt ya. If anythin’, I’ll have to keep up with ya out there.”

“Yeah, cause you’ll finally be flying on your own. You sure you remember how?”

“ ‘Course! I’m hurt, where do ya think ya learned all those tricks?”

She laughed and he watched the fluorescents cut hard shapes on the angles of her face. His hand raised of its own accord and brushed a few strands of hair off her cheek. “You going to remember to save some for the rest of us, hotshot?” She asked. Her cheeks were flushed pink, maybe from the laughter, maybe because his hand was cupping her cheek and she’d taken a few steps closer. The world hurried on around them, but this was one of their few stolen moments. He’d be damned if the war cut it short.

“I’m not the one ya gotta worry ‘bout.” He pointed out. “The better question is are ya gonna save some for us?”

“Maybe.” She answered but her smirk clearly said  _ no _ . The Bloody Wolf, they called her, The Assassin. More confirmed kills than most of the rebels, best of the best in her fighter, ruthless with her blasters, and unbeatable in hand-to-hand combat. Her nicknames stuck just as thickly as her body count. He was the only one unintimidated enough to be her gunner.

Jez tugged the helmet out from under his arm and set it at their feet before leaning against his chest. He hadn’t bothered to put his own suit on. He told himself it was because getting his helmet was more important, especially since he’d accidentally left it in his room, jammed beneath the bed by his toolbox. But maybe it was just for this, to hold her more securely in his arms.

_ Tell me this won’t be the last time you hold me _ , she was demanding in tension in her shoulders and pressure of her arms around his waist. He wrapped his own tight around her, chin against the top of her head. 

_ It won’t, I promise, it won’t _ , he answered in returning her tight grip, a brief kiss to the top of her head. 

She pulled away, only to grab the front of his jacket and drag him down for a kiss. He had to stoop to meet her lips. She tasted of alcohol and cold metal, the electric spark that told him she’d been working on her ship again.  _ I hate that you’re not flying with me _ , she said in the way she turned the kiss desperate and hard, the bottom of his lip between her teeth. 

_ I know, I know, it’ll be okay, you’ll protect me _ , he said in the way their noses touched and their lips parted, but their breaths mingled. 

“I love you,” she said softly against his mouth. “Across the universe and back.” Their lips brushed and she swallowed his answer in another kiss. This one was tender, soft, the kiss of goodbye, I’ll see you later, come back to me. Her cold metal bit and her alcohol burned, or maybe that was just something caught in his throat.

“I love ya too,” he whispered back, when she’d released him. “Across the universe and back.”

She shoved him away, a playful gesture, all smirks and smiles that didn’t touch her eyes. She bent and hooked his helmet on her fingers, thrusting it back into his arms. “Watch my back, yeah?”

“Always,” he said and gave her the bravest smile he could muster. It must have worked because the edges of her mouth softened. “And ya got mine?”

“You know it. Get a move on, hotshot, we have a fight to win.” She smirked and sauntered off, leaving him to stare after her until the crowd swallowed him back up, and he made his way to his own ship. The battle was about to begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading! <3


	8. Falling Angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Blythe and Magnus search for the plans, Irie is left outside to guard the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're finally back to death scenes for the rest of the fic! Irie is one of my favorite characters to write and killing her off was actually kind of fun. Please enjoy!

“Cover our backs.” Magnus had said and turned towards the vault. She hadn’t bothered to watch him go, this was hardly the time to get sentimental. Besides, they’d had the closest thing to a moment Irie would allow back in the hanger.

_ The wings, a little girl painted them on years ago. Her mom was the one who repaired me. Stormtroopers killed them both before the Alliance arrived.  _

_ I never asked.  _

_ I know. That’s why I told you _ .

“You’ll need this.” Blythe had said and startled her with an outstretched hand. She held out a pistol with a saccharinely sweet smile and big brown eyes. Ug. Irie had accepted the weapon, but only because they wouldn’t let her carry one inside. Apparently a machine gun wasn’t “standard protocol” for an Imperial droid, even a re-programmed one. Cowards.

“Thanks. Not that this would have been a problem, if you’d given me one earlier.” Blythe had rolled her eyes, but hadn’t argued. The little rebellious distraction turned to go and Irie had surprised herself by continuing. “Blythe. You’re unexpected. Not bad. But unexpected.” 

Thankfully, before Blythe had been able to reply with something disgustingly optimistic, Magnus had appeared in the doorway of the vault and ushered her inside. They’d left her alone to the machines.

It was cold here. Or perhaps the better description was lacking warmth in the cool dark halls and the metal consoles. It was a place that felt electronic, frigid, lacking the earthiness of the Rebel base. This place was black and silver, like her. All wires and pristine sheens and Irie hated it. She missed her wings that marred her as other, the robotic version of a scar that was a reminder. It had meant something. She wanted that back, wanted to be imperfect, uncaring who saw. It would be over soon. Magnus could chip at the overlay of fresh paint to uncover the wings. Blythe could draw her a new set with her careful hands. They’d have to survive first though. And those odds were statistically low.

Alone didn’t last long. It started with three stormtroopers and Magnus’s advice to keep them away from the door through misdirection. That was more complicated than punching them, but probably the more effective strategy, in the long term. Statistically speaking, of course. It was a matter of following careful logic.

Step one: close the door to the vault, sealing Blythe and Magnus inside. Step two: come up with a lie to cover for the unconscious man on the floor. Come up with something fast. Tell them the rebels ran down the hall and hope the stormtroopers don’t come back. Step three: be interrupted by an impatient and foolish Magnus. Step four: when step two fails, knock them unconscious with nothing but her fists. Step five: get obnoxiously shot in the shoulder. Again, Magnus’s fault. Step six: shoot back with Blythe’s gun and prepare for a real battle.

There were five bodies sprawled across the floor and Irie wished she could sigh. Help would be coming. They were running out of time. This was what the Alliance got for sending in a bunch of humans to do a job meant for droids. Or one droid. Okay, fine, they could have just sent her and it all would have been fine. Stupid humans. Stupid, reckless, “we know better than you, Irie” humans. She hoped to survive long enough to say I told you so.

She kept one hand on the console, the other on the gun. Blythe’s kind smile came to mind as Magnus’s voice came over the comms. They were tossing ideas back and forth. Irie found herself suddenly happy that her last words to the girl hadn’t been cruel. That feeling vanished when Irie realized it was her job to figure out which folders to open. Again, ug. Humans really couldn’t do anything by themselves.

The extra time they’d wasted by scrolling through the files gave Irie time to hook into the mainframe, notably the security cameras. Her visual processing displayed the hallways in the immediate vicinity so she could analyze the most immediate threat. Calculating the shot was child’s play and she was able to take down four more stormtroopers while Blythe and Magnus tried another subset of folders. What could possibly be taking them so long? She could do better, even after she’d been shot a few times. Which was clearly where this was going

The line stayed open, the two tossing file names back and forth as they scanned the latest list. Magnus’s voice was softer when he spoke to Blythe, she noted. It was horribly gentle. Irie blocked them out and tuned into the cameras. Two squadrons for the two hallways. A full retinue of stormtroopers on both sides. Pristine white that reminded her of imperfect white wings. What she wouldn’t give to have the paint off so they could see it. Or better yet, what she wouldn’t give for something other than Blythe’s measly pistol. She didn’t need to run the odds to know they weren’t good.

She disconnected from the cameras and focused on the right hall, firing off a shot and killing the first one to round the corner. The Empire needed to upgrade to give them better armor. Another shot, this one to the left, and a brief cry as the trooper collapsed. It didn’t deter the rest and within seconds, both halls were filled with enemies and their rain of fire. A couple blasts struck her casing, filling her sensors with the acrid scent of burnt metal, minorly annoying at best. She returned shots of her own as quickly as possible, limited by both her position and her hand stuck to the console. Ducking beneath the panel increased her chances of survival, but hurt the odds of securing the files as quickly as possible. Irritating. Honestly, who had designed this place without a nice convenient pole for her to hide behind? 

“Irie, Irie!” Magnus said as she felt another shot catch exposed wiring. Seriously? “We need the file for Stardust.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m on it.” It took seconds to finish the search and locate the plans. All she had to do was select it. Her hand on the console wouldn’t stretch to the next button. She’d have to lower the gun. She fired three more times, paused, pressed the key to light up the file so Magnus and Blythe could identify it. It was over. She raised her arm again.

Her auditory processing picked up the sound of boots from the hall behind her. The next cascade of shots littered her back and she felt her legs give out. Something struck the panel behind her and it exploded in a shower of sparks. That didn’t mean anything until Magnus garbled voice came over the comms. Apparently they’d damaged her auditory systems too. “Irie? Irie!” Was he desperate or was that another failure in her circuits?

A blast to where her heart should have been, if she’d had one. Liquid, probably coolant or something, dripped down her casing. Her vision was clouded with a variety of error messages.  _ Loss of connection to lower body, forced disconnection from files resume?, warning: wiring exposed, danger to circuitry, warning please address, warning please address, warning please address _ . Her vision was red. Was this what it meant to bleed out? How very human.

“Climb, climb up there.” Were her words coming through? She hoped so and pressed on, just in case. It sounded electronic, fizzied with static. “You can still get the plans to the fleet. If they open the shield gate, you can broadcast from the tower. I’ll cover you. Locking the vault door now.” A pause, Blythe’s blaster clattered to the floor. The casing on her back was destroyed and she hoped the paint was chipped enough for them to see her wings. Rebel wings. 

They’d fried her memory banks, but one resurfaced, playing out over her warning messages. A bright smile, bright like the stars. Bright like the way Magnus looked at Blythe.  _ I think I’ll call you Irie! You’re one of us now, Mamma repurposed you. She said we need someone to protect us, so you can be our angel. You’d like that, won’t you? _

_ My designation is K-2S0. _

_ That’s boring. I think Irie is better. C’mon, please? _

_ Fine. Irie. _

_ Yay!  _

The image shattered in an explosion of sparks as something spliced through another series of wires. She positioned her hands on either side of the bottom of the console. “Goodbye,” Irie said.

“Irie, Irie, what are you doing?” Magnus again, the sound of steps like he was storming towards the door. His voice calling her name again and again. “No, Irie!”

She ripped up the console. Magnus still echoed in her ears. She flung the panel as hard as possible at the stormtroopers. Watched it crush the last of the troops. She wished she was human enough to laugh. They had peppered her with holes. Faintly, as though it was far away, the vault clanged shut.  _ Boom, boom, boom _ , sealed inside. Odds of survival dropping. Had she run the numbers or was that another error? System failures scrolled across her vision in lines of red.

She fell forward. The sound of her body resounded like another lock clicking into place. A quick hail of finishing shots. More stormtroopers? Hadn't she gotten them all?  _ Warning: System Failure Imminent _ . Her vision faded, the last thing she saw a bright light. Like angel wings.  _ Irie _ , Magnus said. Her connection to the world snapped. And blissfully, it all went dark.

Chances of survival: 0%.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm excited to be sharing more of this fic, especially some of the next few scenes. Have a great week!


	9. A Final Glimpse of Sunshine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting a message through to the rebels isn't easy. Morrison and Nasir pay the price.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy with the way this scene came out, I know it's a fan favorite. I tried my best to deliver, I hope you enjoy!

The cold hard truth was that true love was entering into a war that wasn’t theirs, running through the dirt and mud, and nearly getting blown to bits because one very sweet husband had asked him to. If Morrison had had his way, they would have been back in another seedy bar in Jedha, enjoying alcohol and one another’s company in their little corner of peace. But no. Nasir had to be all noble. Not that Morrison didn’t love that about him, because he did. Truly. Just not running for his life across a battlefield to a master switch while blaster fire killed the men behind them.

Normally, he might have let out a lengthy string of complaints. It was a lot of running. There were a lot of dead people. He had chipped a nail and really, it messed up his entire look. The corpses and the increasing likelihood of his own demise were enough of a deterrent that he kept his mouth shut. That and he needed the breath to keep running. Who decided to put the master switch so far away? He’d have to speak to the management about it.

His feet dug against rough sand and snapped him back to reality more harshly than was necessary. The distractions were gone and he felt his ragged breaths snag in his lungs, puffing for air. He was getting too damn old for this. His legs ached, but he pressed forward, determined to keep up with Nasir who was barely three paces ahead of him. His husband’s staff flung sand behind him as he used it to propel himself forward, following the others to the alcove of a door that might provide some cover.

He didn’t dare turn around, but he could still hear the  _ thunks  _ as bodies were pillowed against the ground, jets of sand and water shooting up around them like fireworks he could touch. The smoke of the explosions choked his lungs. Morrison kept running. Nasir did the unthinkable and turned around. He couldn’t see, but he could feel and he wanted to help. Stupid, empathatic bastard. 

Morrison didn’t hesitate. He caught Nasir by the waist before his foolish husband could do something stupid like risk his life for the dead and dying. What mattered was them. He dragged the other man back, his momentum carrying them into the shelter of the blast doors and into the gap along the side. Men screamed behind them and Morrison kept the love of his life barricaded into the corner, his body as protection.

The few others who had made it were huddled into their own corners, trying to make their voices heard above the battle. Who cared about where the master switch was? Who cared if they needed to reach it or the men that had died trying? Who fucking cared? What mattered was Nasir. What mattered was staying alive.

“We have to do something,” Nasir whispered. He was crying. Cloudy blue eyes, like that of the ocean against white sand, stared somewhere past him, not looking but still seeing. His knuckles were white on his staff, his breath in short gasps. His dark curls, peppered with flecks of grey, were rumpled and if Morrison ignored the rest of the world, he could pretend they were flat from a morning spent together in bed. His dusky umber brown skin was streaked with blood, a nasty cut on his cheek and his split knuckles flaking dried patches. His gentle pink lips were broken with bloody cracks and swelling so their shape was lost. 

Morrison raised a pale hand to Nasir’s cheek, nearly a ghostly white with fear. “No, no we don’t. This isn’t our fight. Stay here, stay with me.”  _ Stay and be safe, stay in this moment, in this place where we can pretend it’ll all be okay _ .

“If we don’t, who will?” It came softly, tears still fresh on his cheeks. Morrison leaned in, but his husband closed the distance without the burden of reluctance or an awareness of the battle. Their lips brushed, a taste of salt and sand, the blue of the ocean, the acid of blood, underlying sweetness. Nasir’s hand cupped the back of his neck and he gripped the other man’s cheek in return. He was blissfully warm, like all those mornings cuddled beneath a heaping pile of blankets, sunlight through dirty window cracks, laughter through the disasters.

He thought Nasir was pulling him closer, tugging him up to allow for better purchase, a better kiss. Instead, he swung, a move that belonged on the dance floors of Coruscant or Naboo and Morrison shifted with him automatically. Until his lips were left to bare air and Nasir was making his way out of the shadows and into the light, his favorite prayer on his lips. “I’m one with the force, the force is with me.” 

“Nasir!” Morrison cried and lunged forward, but it was too late. He was out of reach. He stuttered forward, an attempt to help, do something other than watch the disaster that was certain to come. A hail of fire struck the wall inches from his head and he scrambled back on instinct. His heart told him to follow.  _ Trust in the force _ , Nasir said in his memory.  _ Or at least trust in me _ . His mind held him still. Morrison drew his gun, sending a quick spray towards the men lying under cover in the sand. It wasn’t much, but it was better than a prayer. It was all he could do.

“I’m one with the force, the force is with me,” Nasir repeated. Sand shot up in jets and blaster fire whizzed past, singeing his clothes and the ends of his curls. His head was cocked, sightless eyes somewhere ahead, searching. His voice carried out over the dips and dunes, or perhaps it was just the center of Morrison’s focus. He walked with purpose, staff striking out to catch his balance like he knew where he was going.

“Nasir, come back!” Morrison called again. His heart was resting in his throat, pounding in the space above his clavicle to stop his breaths from entering his lungs. His gaze felt stuck to Nasir, as though if he dared to tear his eyes away for even a second, it would be Nasir’s death. His sweat-slicked hands skated across the gun and he readjusted his grip, risking another few shots to buy his husband a few more precious moments. He was so close.

“I’m one with the force, the force is-” The words seemed to echo and reverberate in the air, though he was out of earshot. His staff struck the control panel and he stumbled into it. His hands, wrinkled and spotted with the long years, searched the panel, finding the edges with his thumb, fingers in a fan to cover the biggest area possible. It was his pointer finger that bumped into the master switch and his hand climbed its way to the handle. The men around Morrison were holding their breaths. He could practically feel the heat of his husband’s shining smile as he yanked the switch down. That was it. It was over.

“Nasir, come, come with me,” he yelled. He offered cover with a powerful burst from his gun. Nasir turned, a smile that was sunlight even after all these years blossoming across his mouth, and began to make his way back across the sands. The prayer had fallen and lay somewhere behind. That didn’t matter. Nasir was alive. He was coming back. Morrison twisted to crow with joy at the other men or maybe encourage them to help provide cover fire. They were all dead. The enemy had slithered further into their crater. The world was quiet. Lifeless eyes, full of hope, blank stared back. They cowered deeper into their corners, seeking shelter in a place that was cruel. Their bodies smouldered, thin trails of smoke rising from wounds. Even after all these years, it was hard to see people look so empty. At least it wasn’t his husband.

He should have known what came next. Morrison turned back too late.

A falling star spun through the air and landed in Nasir’s wake. Except falling stars didn’t blink or beep. His smile burned with an unknowing weight as he continued on. The star exploded in a flash of silver, glowed orange, settled on yellow, shifted to gold. The ground rattled. A shower of sand fell like rain. Nasir had been thrown forward carelessly. The ground drank red blood. Morrison screamed. The sound felt shattering, but it was lost in the noise.

The ground was unforgiving and refused to remain still. It shifted beneath desperate feet, forced spilled contents to the surface until all Morrison could see was blood. Red, red blood. Red like the blaster fire that threatened to kill him too but that hardly mattered. What mattered was Nasir. 

Morrison collapsed onto his knees beside his husband. Shrapnel riddled Nasir’s back, fire had licked the curls on the back of his head, blood ran hot from puncturing wounds. His back rose shallowly, breaths cracked and uncertain. His clothes had been melted away in patches, fresh burns that wove between the metal. He was mangled and broken, making Morrison’s heart twist cruelly as though he’d taken the brunt of the explosion and the shrapnel was digging into his skin.

But it wasn’t fatal, right? It could be fixed, couldn’t it? It would all be okay… right? Morrison would carry him back to the ninth landing platform and onto the ship. There would be supplies to stop the bleeding, tide him over. Blythe and Magnus would arrive with the plans and they’d all run back to the heart of the resistance. Nasir would spend a couple weeks in bed, Morrison clutching his hand all the while. Then it would be over. They’d leave this stupid war behind and find some other planet for sleepy morning kisses to live out the rest of their days in peace. The scene played out so clearly in front of him that he could almost see Nasir, laughing and whole, in bed beside him.

Nasir moaned and the image wavered like a mirage, growing distant before fading into the smoke and screams of reality. With as much care and delicacy as he could muster, Morrison rolled his lover onto his back, settling the other man’s head in his lap. Another groan escaped parted lips and labored breaths came in the form of struggled gasps. Blood trickled down the corner of his mouth. Foggy eyes opened to the vivid blue sky and a hand weakly lifted to feel his face, trace familiar features that he couldn’t see. Morrison bent lower, and felt something warm and wet streak across his cheeks, the ridge of his lips, brush his eyelids lightly. A pained tremble attacked Nasir’s lips and left the corners at an attempt towards a smile, but that failed.

“I’m sorry,” Nasir said. And he knew. 

“Sorry for what? You’re gonna be fine, Sunshine. We’re gonna be okay and you’ll make this up to me on your birthday with lots of kisses and presents. And then I’ll kill you for doing something so crazy and we’ll laugh about it in a couple more years. You’ll be fine. We’re gonna be okay.” The tears burned like fresh fire and spilled onto Nasir’s forehead. His husband’s hand slipped and entwined with his own, a faint squeeze of false reassurance.

“On-” he paused and sputtered a cough. “My birthday?”

“Well yeah, your birthday is much closer and I deserve some kind of reward for the heart attack you just gave me.” Morrison tried to laugh and it came out a croak. His other hand lightly brushed aside the curls on Nasir’s forehead, afraid to do more than that, in case it only caused him more pain. 

“Of course,” Nasir agreed. He coughed again and blood bubbled against once pink lips. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, everything’s gonna be-”

“Morrison, please.” A tear slipped down his cheek, followed by another. They seemed to fall so slowly, rolling delicately like dew down the slopes of a blade of grass. The other man’s voice sounded raw, bloody, scared. “I’m sorry I couldn’t give you the forever I promised.”

Their wedding vows.  _ I swear to be overdramatic and true to you, my lover. I’m choosing forever and that forever is you _ .  _ I love you, I love you, I love you _ . The weight in his chest cracked ribs and compressed his heart. He had no strength left to suppress the tears and it was all he could do to choke down the sob. “No, Sunshine, don’t be sorry.”  _ Because it’ll all be okay _ , but those words wouldn’t come out anymore, like he’d used them up.

“I wish… I wish-” He sucked in a hard breath, nose scrunched and eyebrows knit together, forced the words between gritted teeth. “I could see your face one last time.”

Morrison gave his hand a hard squeeze, shifted to feel a fluttering pulse. A dying heart beneath his hands. He spoke and it sounded watery, lost, desolate. “No you don’t, I’m old and that does horrible things to my complexion. Imagine me youthful and beautiful, that’s much better for both of us.”

He’d lost the strength to smile. The pain eased from his face and his pulse fell fainter. Cloudy eyes remained on an invisible sky. Around them, a war raged on. “I’ll be waiting... for our next forever...” He said and his next breath rattled. “I’m… I’m…”

“I’m one with the force, the force is with me,” Morrison took up the words, a prayer to whatever shred of cosmic fate existed to save him. “I’m one with the force, the force is with me.” A comfort to his husband, the belief they’d never shared. “I’m one with the force, the force is with me.” Pleading for things to go back to the way they were meant to be. Happy. Peaceful. Away from this.

Nasir managed to mouth along, the phrase taking hold like it had some deeper power. Maybe that was what it meant to really believe. Then, his chest stilled, his heart beating once, twice, three, four, five times. Then it forgot its rhythm and fell still, his cheek pressing into Morrison’s pants which were soaked with his blood. Belief was not enough.

"No, Sunshine, come back. It'll be okay, it has to be okay, you'll be okay. Come back, I can't live without you. Nasir, please, Sunshine, love, Nasir, please come back." Morrison begged. The corpse in his arms didn't answer. 

Morrison’s scream ripped through the air and his eyes blurred with tears. He clawed at Nasir’s clothes, tearing them aside to press a desperate hand to his heart, so quiet, it had never been this quiet before. And how loud the world was. It was the rage, the grief, drowning, all encompassing. His vision dimmed the world to red and black.

Boots marched across the sand to tear him away from his husband. He shifted his gun to the front, firing blindly, desperately. Nothing could make him leave Nasir’s side. Nothing. No one. He would protect his husband until his last breath. Even now.  _ Oh Sunshine, at least you won’t have to wait very long for our next forever _ . There were cries, as though he had struck true. His finger on the trigger ached. Nasir’s blood seeped into his pants, his skin, his bones. 

The world was red. The sound of blasters made a chorus as the stormtroopers fired back, outnumbering the last man kneeling in the sand. The world was black, their armor glinting in the sunshine, Nasir’s dark curls splayed in his face, midnights under the blankets remembering the meaning of forever. The world was red that filled his vision as the pain seared and the lasers ripped through armor and skin to blood and bone. He slumped onto sand. The world was blue, eyes that had once been crystalline, clear skies and fresh rain, now murky waters and lost bluffs in the fog. He drew a pained breath, reached a hand out numbly to rest on his husband’s cheek. “Forever,” he whispered. The world was golden sunshine and lasting eternity. The world was red and there was a final shot, distant, a thousand years away.

The world was black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always thanks for reading! The next chapter will be up tomorrow.


	10. The Pilot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theo has to get a message to the resistance. For a moment, it seems like there's a happy ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please keep in mind, this chapter, especially the beginning, has some rough content.
> 
> This is actually one of my favorite scenes and this death made me tear up. It gets to me, especially the ending. Theo has a soft spot in my heart. Anyway, please enjoy this chapter!

Theo peeked his head over the crates, and eyed the open maws of the ship, waiting several feet away through the deadly battle raging over his head. The cable in his hands felt more like a noose and he wondered if it was too late to just kill himself and be done with it. A knot had coiled in his stomach, squeezing his abdomen in a horrible viper’s grip. The cable slipped in his palms, thin lines of sweat left in a trail. He readjusted it, but the movement didn’t make him feel any better. If anything, he was even more lightheaded. If he fainted, would they assume he was dead and just leave him here? 

“You have to, we can only send the plans if the shield’s open.” Magnus ordered. The sound of his voice nearly jolted Theo into the air and it was only the fear of being shot in the face that made him sink back down. He wiped his hands on his trousers one at a time, then cradled his comm, thumb hovering over the button to reply.  _ But… but what if I can’t do it? _ He wanted to ask.  _ What if I’m not brave or strong? _

After all, he wasn’t like Irie who gave commands like a queen and demanded respect like a general, even though she was just a droid. He certainly wasn’t anything like Magnus who was an Alliance spy and, if the stories were true, an assassin. He wasn’t like Blythe either, for all her kind smiles and comforting hugs, had spent time in a galactic prison and had almost definitely killed someone before. He was just Theo, an Imperial pilot whose hands trembled when he got scared and who Galen Erso had trusted with the message. Betraying the Empire was hard enough and that had involved a lot less combat.

“Theodore, confirm.” Magnus barked and he squeaked in response. A laser burst onto his crate, a shower of sparks shimmering around him. He peeked over the top again and stared at the ship. It looked like a monster waiting to eat him whole.  _ But what if I can’t? _ He opened his mouth to cry. 

Blythe’s smile came to mind, her hands squeezing his as she took slow breaths beside him. The memory surfaced. The ship’s interior had flickered and the jaws of space leered out, the stars like a hundred thousand eyes, watching and waiting for him to fail. She’d noticed his gaze locked on the window and had gently nudged his shoulder.  _ If not us, then who? You made it with us this far, you can do this too _ .

_ But what if I can’t? _ He’d whispered.  _ What if I let you and your father down? _

_ Oh Theo _ , she’d said his name like a sigh.  _ You won’t.  _

_ Well, how do you know? _

_ Because I have hope _ . Her eyes had darted across the ship and landed on Magnus with a kind of weight he couldn’t explain nor understand. Magnus had stared back and Theo began to wonder if he should clear his throat or if that was considered rude.

_ What about when you’re scared? _ He’d asked at last.

_ Especially when I’m scared _ , she’d answered and gave him a smile that could rival kyber crystals. 

Theo closed his eyes and took a deep breath, rolling Blythe’s words over in his mind. Before Magnus could start yelling, for that would almost certainly send him into another spiral of blind panic and twisting fear, he pressed the button. “Confirmed. I can do this.” There was no answer, but he could almost hear Blythe agreeing.  _ You can do this _ .

He slipped the device back into one of the pockets along his belt. Shifted his hands along the cord to strengthen his hold. Took another deep breath.  _ You can do this _ . He pushed himself to his feet and ignored the urge to puke in the nearest bushes. Instead, he ducked his head, his shoulders hunched up against his ears and sprinted over the landing platform, praying that the wire wouldn’t snag all over again. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to leave the safety of the crates for a second time.

The blood roared in his ears and the breaths tore roughly at his lungs. His eyes stung with unshed tears. Blasters fired hazardously, searing heat against a cool, balmy breeze. He had to run faster. Grains of sand had made their way into his socks and scratched at his feet as he raced across the tarmac. His lungs were on fire. His vision was an uncertain blur, but that didn’t stop him from watching the men, who he’d never really gotten to know, die. It was horrible and never ending and all it made him want to do was curl up on the ground and give up and cry and let them kill him so it’d be over and he wouldn’t have to be brave a moment longer and-

Then he was in the safety of the ship. The hatch did not shudder shut and he was not forced into some horrific creature’s gullet. He did slip in his haste and go crashing to the floor, but that was a minor detail, lost in the quick scramble to plug in. His hands fumbled, a soldier screamed somewhere beyond, and then they were connected. They were connected! He’d done it!

Theo scrambled over to the communication screen, nearly tripping again on the slick floor. His knee slammed into the metal and he tried to snatch the headset and instead sent it clattering to the floor. He dropped to his hands and knees, groping on the floor until he closed his hand around the mic. A laser whizzed over his head before he could stand and Theo could only hope it was a stray shot. They were running dangerously low on time.

He touched the controls and felt some of the fear abate as routine settled over him in a comforting shell. Softly, he began to hum, the notes of an old lullaby warbling. The world beyond the ship dimmed as though he’d consciously dialed it out. He flew across the keys, heard the connection form through the headset, now looped loosely around his neck, and he dared to breathe. For the first time since they’d told him that the shield gate had closed, ensnaring them in the trap, the tension in his stomach uncoiled.

The silence on the other side of the line was almost overwhelming and Theo had to firmly remind himself that it was because the Alliance ships didn’t even know if anyone was alive down on the planet’s surface. He remembered to take a breath before pressing the button to transmit his message. “This is Rogue One calling any Alliance ships that can hear me.”

Static and silence crackled on the other end as Theo waited. And waited. And waited. The seconds seemed endless, the minutes might as well have been years. There were people dying just outside the doors. His foot tapped a rapid beat and when he tried to make himself stop, his fingers took up the rhythm instead. When it seemed no one was going to answer, he tried again, the desperation adding a force to his words that he didn’t even know he possessed. “Is there anybody out there? This is Rogue One, over!”

There was a long pause and Theo could almost envision someone on the other end, as nervous as he was, scrambling to reach the communication terminal in time. It was a nice delusion and he was willing to let it go and give up when a voice filled him with real hope. “This is Admiral Thalia. Rogue One, we hear you!”

He let out a gasp and nearly dropped the headset as he allowed himself a small jump of excitement. He’d gotten through. They were going to do this. It was all really happening. 

The words came out explosively as he lifted the mic back to his mouth. He crossed his fingers and prayed they’d be able to understand his bombardment since he wasn’t sure he’d be able to repeat it. “We have the plans! They found the Death Star plans, they have to transmit them from the communications tower. You have to take down the shield gate, it’s the only way they’re gonna get them through.”

A short beat of silence and this time, Theo could imagine Admiral Thalia issuing orders to their pilots. Finally, she replied, “Stand by Rogue One, we’re on it!”

“Yes!” Theo cheered. This time, when the headset slipped from his neck and clattered to the floor, he didn’t bother to pick it back up. He allowed himself another little hop and ran his hands through his hair. It was unbelievable. They’d done it. He’d done it. He laughed and the sound bordered on hysterical. 

The moment passed and he turned back to the screens, clutching the edge of the terminal with all his might while he waited desperately for the message that the gate was open. “This is for you, Galen,” he whispered.

Something sailed through the open hatch and struck the wall, bouncing to rest out of his reach. He turned to look, expecting to see maybe a gun or even a body that had somehow been ragdolled inside. It was too much to hope for. The tears burned his cheeks and he looked outside at the stormtroopers that were closing in, keeping him trapped. It was face them or what he’d seen, the device barely registering.  _ It’s a... thermal detonator _ .

_ But… but… but I'm too young. I'm not ready. I'm not ready to die. _

He trembled and sank to the floor, hugging himself desperately, waiting for a call or a hero that wasn’t coming. His proud smile slipped and died, half-born on his lips. He had seconds and no escape. He really would die in the belly of the beast.  _ I have hope _ , Blythe’s voice said in his head.  _ Especially when I’m scared _ . He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to remember that he’d done something. He hadn’t failed. There was still hope for the Alliance, even if there wasn’t any hope for them.

_ See, Blythe? See, Galen? I did it. _

The jaws of the ship didn’t shut and swallow him like he’d imagined. Instead, something else defeated the monster and took the scared young man inside with it. Maybe in the stories they’d remember him as a hero.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading as always, have a wonderful week!


	11. The Cold, Dark Vacuum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fight isn't restricted to the planet's surface. After all, someone has to get the shield gate open or die trying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On a scale of 1 to 10, how obvious is it that I'm not much of a sci-fi writer? This really isn't my thing, so thank you for giving me a chance. Also, I know this song has nothing to do with the Star Wars or Rogue One universe, it's just been their couple song for so long it deserved a place of honor. Please enjoy!

_ Watch my back? Always. And you got mine? You know it _ .  _ You know it. You know it. _

It was memorialized in her mind as Jez spun through the flaming wreckage of the Star Destroyer’s bulkhead, her lasers having ripped through a weak point in the shields. The Tie-Fighters on her six were lost to fiery explosions, catching the edges of the debris or consumed by the fire in her wake.  _ Good _ . They’d never be able to out-fly her in the first place, but it was always cute of them to try.

“Awww, Red 2, does that put you ahead of me?” Leo’s voice boomed in her cockpit and she offered a ferocious smile he couldn’t see. If things weren’t already desperate, their squad leader would remind them to keep their private game out of the main comms. It was too telling when the only reply was another rapid fire series of call-outs and the severe lack of chastisement. She almost missed it.

“Of course it does, I’m the better pilot.” Jez answered. She pushed her ship into a steep dive, nearly skimming the surface of the bigger one’s engines to shake off any lasting pursuers. She followed it with a harsh bank to the left, flexing her fingers against the stick. Another crash resounded behind her and Jez allowed herself a private smile. A quick glance out the window told her that she was in the clear and in response, she angled her ship to rejoin the Alliance fleet. 

The stars were consumed by ships and wreckage, the twinkling lights of cosmic space faded to the background. Tie-Fighters filled the battlefield, probably three times the number of their own. There was a tightness to the call-outs, a suppressed panic as the enemy swarmed their visions.Their own ships were few and far in between, tight knit squads refusing to break formation. Her gut told her it wouldn’t be enough. But that didn’t mean she had any intention of stopping. 

It took several long minutes of weaving through the battle for Jez to spot her own squadron, who were preparing for another run on the unblemished shield gate. The group was at least four short, though they were too far away for her to determine who’d been lost. Her gut twisted when she thought of the dead. Four more soldiers with nothing left to bury. Four more people she’d been too late to save. Just like her family. She swallowed the guilt and grief, reaching for the cold heart and clear mind that won wars. It took some effort, but she forced the smirk into her voice to keep up the banter. “For the record, that’s twenty-six to your…?”

“Twenty-one,” Leo said and she could hear the smile in his voice, but it sounded off-beat. She could almost picture it, jilted, watery, trying to force hope against impossible odds. His reply was as automatic as hers. After all, he was hardly surprised anymore, she did always beat him.

The Tie-Fighter’s numbers only climbed as she drew nearer and Jez forced herself to tear her gaze away from the Rebel ships diving towards the shield gate for yet another attempt. She was too far away to join them, even with a boost to her thrusters. Instead, she unclenched her jaw and pushed her ship into a steep climb, coming up beneath several of the enemy and forcing them to scatter. Some weren’t quite fast enough and she managed to hit at least three with her lasers, the remains careening into pilots who couldn’t dodge in time.  _ Thirty-one, give or take _ . She leveled off above the others, directing her X-Wing to rejoin her formation. Her timing would have to be precise. She rolled her shoulders and swooped towards her friends. 

“Stick close Red 5. Where are you going?” Arianna’s voice over the mic, the sound thin and tense. Jez could imagine their squad leader’s face, the calculations running through her head, pressing her lips into a hard line. Loose raven strands fluttering in her eyes, no matter how tight her hair was pulled back. Eyes bordering on obsidian black, a dark blue like deep oceanic depths scanning the ships for any kind of plan. Jez almost wished she could see her friend’s false smile, maybe it would be worth a token shred of hope. 

Leo didn’t answer and she had to shoot down her own rising tide of panic as she watched his X-Wing break formation with several Tie-Fighters close after. He sped up to outpace them, leaving her in starry trails, too far away to do any good. “Leo? Leo!” She tried with a sharpness that cut over the indistinct chatter.

“They’re all over me, I’m trying to lose them.” The words were clipped. Jez didn’t hesitate, she altered her course and sped off after him.  _ I’ve got your back _ . Three Tie-Fighters joined the chase, riding her tail hard. She spun to avoid a lock, a quick corkscrew that brought the blood roaring to her ears and a dizziness in the face of the uncaring, endless abyss of space. 

“Red 2, pull back into your position. That’s an order,” Arianna demanded as she shot past the Red formation, realigned for another pointless run on the shield gate. No one had gone off to help Leo. Of course not. What was he in comparison with their war? He was nothing. He was no one. Except to her.

“Fuck your orders,” Jez snarled back. Green lasers bloomed around her, prepared to clip her wings and send her spinning out of control. She grit her teeth and clutched her controls with an unmatched intensity. She had to reach him. The rest could wait, she just had to reach him.  _ I’ve got your back _ . 

“This is Red 5, I need help!” His voice trembled, as his ship swerved sharply to the right. It wasn’t enough to shake off the pursuers.

He was too far away. The realization was like a crash, burning metal and acrid smoke to beat her lungs and choke her heart. It reminded her of the time they’d kissed underwater, burning and aching lungs, offering whispers of air to another through locked lips. The willingness to drown if it meant another moment in his arms. All because he was Leonardo Monguel and he was the only thing in her shit of a life that had ever mattered. And he was too far away.

“Red 2, pull back.” Arianna commanded with the brutality of someone who had nothing to lose but the battle. 

Jezabel ignored her. “Goddamn it, Leo! Just hold on, I’m coming.” She put everything into her thrusters, knowing it wouldn’t be enough. Behind her, the Tie-Fighters stuck close and she was too desperate to try another trick to shake them loose. Their lasers were a hailstorm, filling the vacuum with green light. She jerked her stick hard to the right, keeping Leo’s ship in sight. Faster, she had to go faster. If she just pushed harder… if she just gave it everything...

Her ship shuddered. The metal shrieked beneath her as she forced her engines, just a little faster, she had to be a little faster. “R3, everything we’ve got to engines and guns,” she said, but it sounded far away, faint to her own ears. The droid beeped a series of warnings. “Just fucking do it.” Desperation tasted like tears that weren’t falling. Sweat beaded on her upper lip, but she refused to wipe it away. Seconds, she was seconds away, here was the boost she needed, the Tie-Fighters in her line of sight, she just needed to get a tad closer. The span of a breath kind of closer. His breaths, panicked, short, fast, crackled over the comms. The green of the fire reminded her of the green of his eyes, vivid, bright, alive, dancing stalks of grass under a warm sun. She swallowed a building scream. One more second. One. More. Sec-

“Red 2-Jez, I have to tell you, in case I don’t get the chance. I lo-” He began, his voice shaking. She could taste the salt of his tears on her tongue. Her targets were in range. Another second, she just needed one more. She opened fire and caught one of the ships tailing him in the engines. And then her vision filled with orange and red. It was Leo’s ship. His voice cut off. She hadn’t been enough.

It shouldn’t have been possible for her to feel the explosion. The taste of heat on her tongue, coppery, reminiscent of blood. The blinding flash until her vision was only red. White knuckles, nails scraping her palms and the controls with a tightness grinding her bones and punishing her breaths. She could feel the searing glass and metal on her skin, letting it cut her apart over and over. She exhaled and felt her eyes burn with tears, her lungs frosted with ice to match a mind chanting  _ kill, kill, kill _ . Her heart felt like a star, collapsing in on itself, an internal explosion of her own.

A scream echoed over the comms, piercing and shrill. It fed back on itself, an endless loop of despair replayed over and over, filling every cockpit until it was the only sound. It was losing everything all at once, watching a force beyond your control wrenching away all you had. It was horrible and impossibly loud, consuming, the kind of noise that came from so deep down it was like ripping out a part of one’s soul. It was unabating, and she wanted it to stop, how she wanted it to stop, and it was then that Jez realized the scream was her own.

“Red 2!” Arianna was yelling, maybe trying to get her attention or just get her to stop. Her throat was scraped raw and her eyes burned trails of sparks and fire. She blasted through the wreckage and lowered her speed. She coughed and tasted bile. Everything was too hot and too cold, overwhelming, destructive. 

Her hands moved of their own accord as her mind latched onto a single word.  _ Leo _ . She destroyed the two ships that had killed him within the span of a breath. The explosions only blurred the edges of her vision, the world turned to oranges, yellows, reds, firelight colors, the gold of his hair and sparks of his smile.  _ Leo, ignoring the stares and whispers as he sat beside her in the mess hall. His shrug when they called her an assassin and his grin when he announced he was her mentor _ . I don’t need one, s _ he’d said with a growl and he’d only laughed _ . Co-pilot then.

_ Leo _ . His murderer banked left and she followed. Her world had narrowed, Arianna’s commands a jump to lightspeed away. The battle dimmed. Her nails dragged across her palms and left bloody streaks that would scar. The fighter dove to carve a path along the surface of a Star Destroyer. The move was predictable and Jezabel gave chase, the green shots of the cannons streaking towards her to deter her vengeance. She inhaled and lined up her shot, ignoring the blinking screens, R3’s rattles, shouts of the dying. Her finger hovered over the button.  _ Leo, the first night in his arms when she woke thrashing and screaming. His voice scratchy with sleep as he sang, the lyrics piercing her nightmares to lead her home _ . Hey Jude, don’t make it bad, take a sad song and make it better.  _ A beacon _ . A red light. A final shot. Her screech was feral as the entrails of his killer battered her ship.

_ Leo _ . The remainder on her tail were relentless and she didn’t think. His lessons filled her cockpit, his fingers brushing her skin, directing her towards the controls. She finished the dive and wove hard lines between the cannons on the Destroyer’s surface. Her world smouldered red. She lured them deeper still, then did the one thing they didn’t expect.  _ Leo, sleeves rolled up and grease on his forehead when she’d dragged him down for a first kiss, all scruff, half-missed lips, and tip-toes to reach, that tasted like metal and caffeine and hot days _ .  _ He’d stained her jacket and smiled when she said she should have kissed him sooner _ . Jez cut her speed, slamming her throttle back so quickly her elbow smacked against her chair. Her X-Wing slowed and they kept ahead, not fast enough on the uptake to match her move. Firmly behind them, she reversed the throttle to where she started. It was too easy to dispatch them and easier still to escape the Destroyer, too low for their cannons to reach.

She hit free space again, just in time to see the Hammerhead Corvette emerge from the hanger.  _ Leo, kissing her forehead and pulling her down so her head rested over his heartbeat to keep the nightmares away _ . We’re rebels,  _ he’d said _ . Co-pilots,  _ she’d argued _ . A thief and an assassin.  _ Leo, boots filled with sand and a heavy heart when he’d told her about Tatooine, about his father, about the first love of his life _ . He’d want her to believe in the cause like he had. She didn’t have the heart for that, but she had the skills to win. The easy part wasn’t knowing exactly what to do, it was knowing she wouldn’t make it out the other side. 

The rest of the Alliance fighters had scrambled to keep up a persistent distraction. They wove among the Tie-Fighters, attracting every scrap of attention they could muster. Jez eased her way to a spot behind the Corvette, just far enough back to be maneuverable. They had a lot of space to cross and a few minutes to do it. Probably less. 

Jez shut off her comms and let the silence take over. “Hey Jude,” the words fell in a whisper. A stray Tie-Fighter shifted too close and she obliterated it with a shot. Leo’s voice echoed dimly, a future away, a past close enough she could hear it. “Don’t be afraid.” A fourth of the way there. A couple more of the enemy caught on and she used her position to shoot them down. It wouldn’t be long now. She sucked in a breath and felt the air scratch at her exhausted throat. 

Three more that had escaped the fringes of the fight. They tried to come up behind her, but she performed a fast loop, exiting just in time to catch them from above. “You were made to go out and get her.” Now they came in clumps, her single ship the last line of defense. Her finger cramped and ached from squeezing the trigger button. R3 chirped warnings, low shields, communications switched off, power diverted to blasters. Over halfway there. She circled the Corvette tightly, her wings close enough to kiss the hull as she escorted them further towards their goal. Two thirds. “The minute you let her under your skin,” her voice was hollow. Leo’s was anything but.

Three fourths. They were in pockets now, six or seven, occasionally with a Red, Gold, or Blue fighter hot on their tails as support. She sent three Tie-Fighters careening into one another with a tight spiral. They blazed behind her, a shot intended for her engine that skimmed her wing when she veered right instead. “Then you begin to make it better.” She was crying again, but Leo wasn’t there to wipe away the tears. Almost there. So close. The fighters on her six were relentless and she drew them off to guarantee the Corvette would make it. A couple attempted to follow, but red shots pierced their wings and sent them towards the planet’s surface. Jez swerved to outpace her pursuers.

The Hammerhead Corvette made impact with the disabled Star Destroyer and began its push. “Hey Jude,” she murmured under her breath and watched the Rebel ship struggle against the weight. A laser caught her engine. It sputtered blue and the others tried to compensate and failed. Her R3 was frantic. Jez aimed her nose for a spot on the disabled Star Destroyer’s flank, too far away to inflict any damage on the Corvette. She punched the throttle forward and felt her ship groan like it knew what she had intended. At least her death would be on her terms. It was all she could hope for.

The fighters were still behind her, inattentive to her direction. She released the controls and raised her middle finger, though they couldn’t see it. It was the thought that counted anyway. The Corvette gave another hard shove and the Destroyer began to move. Maybe she’d speed up the process, buy someone somewhere another few seconds. 

“Hey Jude,” Jez said and turned her gaze to the endless expanse of stars.  _ Across the universe to our next adventure _ . Her X-Wing’s nose struck the side of the ship before they could fire a final shot. The impact killed her and the fire ate her, finishing the job Eric had started all those long years ago. The blood red of the snarling wolf Leo had painted impaled a trooper, its howl lost to the silence.

Then the cold, dark vacuum swallowed what was left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and I apologize for any sub-par or "that wouldn't work" moments!


	12. A Bad Feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Rebels have received the plans from Scarif, but can they make a clean getaway or will Vader catch up to them? Hint, it's the second one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Both Sebastian and Leonora are actually character's of good friend of mine, eg1701, who you can find [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eg1701/) on ao3! She's absolutely wonderful, please feel free to give her work a look! Anyway, this chapter is probably the most graphic, so just be aware going in. Please enjoy!

Darkness was not supposed to bubble and foam. Fog shouldn’t have even been possible in space. It wasn’t possible. A lot of things weren’t possible. Kind of like Sebastian being dead.

He’d been sent to help retrieve the transmission from Scarif. She remembered the moment, his soft kiss goodbye and his softer smile. He had wound a lock of her hair around his finger. She remembered thinking it looked like a ring. “I could go.” She had said and looked towards the door. No one filled the halls yet, maybe they were getting ready. Or saying goodbye.

“No. You have your own orders. It’s better if I go. It’ll be okay, sweetheart.” He had replied. She pressed a hand to his cheek. His skin was cold, but his green eyes were warm and a little sad. She didn’t like that look on his face, but couldn’t think of another way to stop him from going. He was right, even if she refused to admit it. They had their orders.

Leonora wanted to tell him she had one of her bad feelings. They came and went, along with strange and usually useless dreams, but she’d learned to trust them. They weren’t always right, but it was best to be proactive about them. She thought Sebastian might have already known because he turned his head and pressed warm lips to the base of her hand.

“If you don’t come back, I’ll shoot you myself,” she had said and heard her voice catch.

“I know, darling.” He had placed an arm around her waist and pulled her in so her head was against his chest. It fit perfectly against his heartbeat. She closed her eyes against the sea of blue of his uniform. If she was being honest, she hated the color. Blue meant ice and dread. She preferred green like his eyes. But maybe if he wore green, she’d just learn to hate that color too. Or any color that he had the nerve to die in.

“I love you, Mr. Sitari.”

“I love you too, Mrs. Highmore.” He had pressed a final kiss to her forehead. When she opened her eyes, he had put on his white helmet, offered her a final smile, then left. It was better that he did, or she might have tried to stop him. Then things could have been different.

She collected herself after he left with a couple deep breaths. It wouldn’t do to cry. There were more important things to be done. She ignored the tremble of her fingers as she pulled her hair back and secured the strap of her helmet under her chin. Her blaster was cold like Sebastian’s cheek. The bad feeling had only gotten worse and it made her nauseous. Almost like she’d had a cup of Sebastian’s terrible tea. 

Leonora left her quarters and turned right, towards the Senator’s quarters. She was supposed to stand outside and keep watch. Her feet carried her halfway there, thoughts conflicting all the while. Sebastian kept appearing around corners, always just out of reach. It felt like she was being haunted and that was when she decided enough was enough. Screw their orders. She’d never been one to listen anyway.

She spun on her heel and raced back the way she’d come. The ship had begun to rattle and the alarms shrieked. The halls grew congested with men and women clambering deeper into the Senator’s ship, trying to escape whatever fate she was running to. Leonora shoved them out of the way and tried to pretend she wasn’t desperate. 

She rounded the final corner and faced a jammed door. Sebastian’s face at the window was too fearful to be a phantom. The red glare of the lightsaber was too harsh to be anything but real. She sprinted the final feet and clamped her hands over the metal. She began to pull, Sebastian put his hands over hers to try and help. Beyond, people were screaming. The door refused to budge.

“Somebody, help!” Leonora screamed. She yanked harder and met Sebastian’s eyes through the window. He was smiling at her softly. She knew what that smile meant, but didn’t want to. It was the first time she wished she didn’t know him so well. Leonora yelled again, “Anybody, please, help me!” 

A set of hands joined her at the other side of the door. A new voice rose over the din of the alarms. “My name’s Finnegan O’Shea, it’s nice to meet you.” It sounded like something that went with a handshake, not a near death experience. She resisted the urge to tell him to shut up.

Leonora didn’t answer and shoved harder. The added weight wasn’t enough and the door only groaned. Darth Vader’s helmet hissed and his lightsaber buzzed. The blaster shots grew quiet and bodies dropped. The tread of his boots made her want to puke. They had never stood a chance. She should have gotten there sooner. She should have never let him go in the first place. She should have trusted that bad feeling.

“Nora, take it.” Sebastian slid something under her fingers and shoved her back. He hadn’t turned around. Did he know how close Darth Vader was or did he not care? She closed her hand around the disk and didn’t move. His skin looked sallow in the red light. 

“No, Sebastian,” she protested and felt her eyes burn. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t let the bastard see her cry. Someone grabbed her arm and tried to pull her away. “NO SEBASTIAN!”

“I love you, Nora,” he said and didn’t lose his smile. That made him brave and strong, though he must have been scared. She was scared enough for the both of them. He didn’t drop his eyes. She didn’t drop hers either. If she focused on the green, then she wouldn’t have to see the red. The grip moved to her shoulder and dragged her away. Her feet moved backwards on their own accord, but she refused to look away.

_ He knows _ , Leonora thought as the  _ thing  _ in black closed the distance. She could feel the weight of a second gaze from beneath the mask. It hadn’t seemed possible to hate the color black until that very moment.  _ He knows about us _ . She tried to scream Sebastian’s name again, but it sounded shapeless.

Sebastian’s eyes were suddenly out of her view. She thought it might have been the door the stranger had pulled her behind. It ended up being worse. She had to watch his body slump to its knees then collapse.  _ He cut off his head. The fucker cut off his head _ . A white helmet rolled across the floor. She fought the urge to throw up or cry or maybe both.

Someone pried her fingers off the disk and distantly yelled for another person to run. There were retreating footsteps. Another set of doors hissed shut behind her. The same voice from earlier was chattering on, but it sounded cold. Like the color blue. Like her blaster in her hands. She didn’t remember picking it up. Leonora thought that whoever had saved her life might have given it to her. But she didn’t want to be saved. “You’ll need this.” He was saying when the blood stopped pounding in her ears.

“To do what?” She turned to the stranger and found a young man. He was smiling, but it was sinister and dark. At another time she would have found it mistrustful, but now she thought it matched the look on her own face.

“Kill Darth Vader.” The man, Finnegan she supposed, said and raised his own blaster. She wondered if he knew that they would die. That was okay with her. Was it okay with him too?

“You could have run.” Leonora said quietly. Her voice was hoarse from shouting. “Delivered the plans yourself.” The saber cut at the metal of the door. It wouldn’t take long for the Sith to get through. At least Sebastian wouldn’t be alone for long. She wouldn’t keep him waiting.

“Oh, I’m not very fast. Isabel can do it, she’s the best runner here.”

“...how did you know that?”

“You find things out when you wander the ship like one of the spooky Force ghosts, ohhhh.” He wiggled his fingers and made what sounded like poor ghostly sound effects. Somewhere beyond their locked chamber, a ship took off to escape. The disk must have made it. That was good. They wouldn’t die for nothing.

“...right.” Leonora considered adding further commentary, but thought that it might be rude to say, especially since he was going to die with her. Sebastian would tell her not to say anything at all. Sebastian who was dead. Maybe Finnegan had lost someone too. It wouldn’t matter, but it sounded right to ask. “Why are you doing this?”

“He killed Deirdre.” He said and grew quiet. She preferred it when he talked, this was more unsettling.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Leonora said, but she was thinking of Sebastian. It was impossible not to. If she’d had the luxury of hindsight, she might have called Finnegan stupid for dying over a mouse droid. But that was a rude thing to say, so she was glad she never found out.

The door opened with a snarl and Vader approached calmly. They opened fire in tandem. Not a single shot hit, but that was okay. It would be over soon. That was something to take comfort in. Vader raised a hand and Leonora felt her throat clench as he lifted her off the ground. She kicked uselessly and let her blaster clatter to the ground. Her hands tried to wrench away the invisible grip on instinct. 

Finnegan hadn’t stopped shooting. In another step, the Sith was on him. Leonora blinked. The red lightsaber stuck out of Finnegan’s chest. His blaster looked like a toy. Finnegan looked broken and his expression was glassy. Leonora sputtered and watched him collapse. She couldn’t breathe. Why couldn’t he just let it be over? Her feet scrambled for purchase, but it was weak. Her vision was clouded with dark spots. 

She barely felt the impact of her body against the wall as she was flung aside. Her lungs gulped for air she didn’t really want. When her vision cleared, Leonora realized that she had landed beside Sebastian’s head, saw his soft smile and green eyes. Tried to ignore the scorched part of his neck where his body was no longer connected. She reached out a hand to feel his skin one last time beneath her fingers. He was too far away and she tried to drag herself to him. She wished she had the strength to tell Darth Vader and his stormtroopers to go fuck themselves in several languages. 

But it didn’t matter. She stretched her fingers a little farther and came up short. The footsteps were distant. The blaster shot was muffled. Leonora’s hand fell, still too far to touch Sebastian’s face. She saw no more.

She should have listened to that bad feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and as always, I hope you have a fantastic week! We'll actually be done with this fic next week, so I really hope you've enjoyed it so far!


	13. Standing Amid The Stardust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the battle at an end, the Empire strikes the final blow. Blythe and Magnus watch as they win the battle, but lose their lives in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is both my favorite scene in the movie and my favorite of the death scenes. I really love how it came out and I can only hope it does the film justice. Also, it's so ridiculously difficult to kill a lot of people off in a row and try to make each one different and unique, but here we are. Please enjoy this final chapter!

_ This is you giving me something to hope for _ . His words stuck out sharply in her mind as she met his eyes across the platform, Director Kensward lying prone between them.  _ My rebel _ . He offered her a hint of a smile and Blythe felt her own mouth tremble in reply. She should be dead. For all intensive purposes, she should be dead. Instead, she scrambled the last precious feet to the transmission panel and flipped the switch. 

Fear coiled in her stomach as she ticked off the seconds, gripping the handle as hard as possible. The platform was gone as she kept her eyes locked on the screen. She held her breath, feeling it build in tandem with the anticipation. Had they done it? Had they managed to break through in time? What were they supposed to do if they hadn’t? The seconds stretched on. And then-

_ Transmitting… _

_ Transmitting… _

_ Transmitting… _

The voice was chilly and mechanical, the text scrawling red on the tiny screen, yet she could have shrieked with the rush of exhilaration. She’d done it. The breath she’d been holding released in a harsh puff. Her head dropped briefly against the screen, the words echoing in her ears as the cool metal pressed against her burning forehead. They’d done it.  _ You’ve lost _ , she’d told Kensward, certain that it was a bluff, that she’d have to find some way of the latest disaster. Certain that the only loss was their own. Yet, here they stood. Here  _ she  _ stood.

The world reached her slowly. First came the sound of Magnus’s breaths, shaped as harsh intakes, exhaled gasps. Then the distant sounds of battle, the peek of casual sunshine and blue skies fraught with plumes of smoke. The smell of fire and fried metal tickled her nose and Blythe released the panel. She stumbled in Magnus’s direction, hand reaching out to grasp his arm, faintly registering that he was slouched against the wall. His eyes lost their target and found hers, pain lacing the gray of his eyes and turning them cloudier. Despite her worry, a real smile dared to break out across her lips.  _ We really did it _ .

She followed the slope of his arms, still pointing his gun, and found Lucas Kensward at the end. She lunged forward without a second thought, feeling the world dim again to a colorless gray.  _ My mother _ . Cold clouds that promised rain, the whistling of long stalks of grass rubbing against one another, gravel and dirt digging into her elbows, the silence that followed the blaster shot that had killed her mother before her father began to shout. _ My father _ . Fire that supposedly made the world burn brighter but had only proved to discolor it, the stains on his uniform, the silver streaks of his hair as he murmured stardust into the murderous night air. She’d push Kensward off the edge. Let him feel the wind whistle as he dropped. Maybe then he’d be able to taste death as she had.

Something yanked her back and she spun to shake her arm free, a quick series of cusses ready to leave her mouth in a rush. Instead, she saw mist hanging over a quiet ocean, heard the soft rumble of thunder in his voice. “Hey, leave it. Leave it.” She turned back to white, cold snow, too bright light, the unbelievable pristineness of an object that had never met the struggle of life. She tugged harder, uncaring if Magnus collapsed behind her, so long as she could reach Kensward, shove him off the platform to whatever waited below. Her boots couldn’t gain enough traction and Magnus only pulled her closer until he was crushing her to his chest. The struggle leaked out in tears that hesitated on her lower lashes. Blythe blinked them away. “That’s it.” Magnus whispered. His breath caressed the shell of her ear. Her eyes slid away from untouched snow. “Let’s go.”

He released her slowly, as though waiting for the moment when she might strike and he’d have to drag her back in. She failed his expectations and unwound her fists instead. He holstered his blaster and the movement must have hurt because the sound that escaped his gritted teeth hung between a groan and a gasp. His bloody knuckles came to rest at some spot on his left side. 

“Can you walk?” Blythe asked. She didn’t wait for him to respond and instead slung his arm around her neck, while hers snaked around his waist. Her free hand latched onto his wrist, pinning it to her body while his maintained pressure on his wound. His weight struck her like a blow and it took all of her strength just to keep them both upright.  
“I climbed up here, didn’t I?” He answered and grunted with the first hobbled step towards the lift. It was an effective distraction and she left Kensward in the past.

“That doesn’t count.” She replied. They staggered forward, cobbling together the effort to walk. Their heavy tread echoed over the growing quiet, the battle at its end, almost as if the world below knew that they’d done it. It was finally over.

Magnus turned his face towards the sky, looking out somewhere beyond the clouds and stars to where the Rebel fleet was supposedly waiting. “Do you think anybody’s listening?” He wondered and tried on a hopeful smile to nudge in her direction.   
She matched it, feeling its delicacy wavering on the curve of her lips. “I do. Someone’s out there.” Someone had to be. Because all of this, the death, the pain, the suffering couldn’t be for nothing. She- _They_ couldn’t have lost everything for this moment to mean nothing. 

They took another step, this time in tandem, and didn’t speak.  _ I hope someone’s out there _ , she said in the way she squeezed his wrist tightly and guided him towards the waiting lift.

_ Rebellions are built on hope _ , he replied in the gentle tap of his fingers against her arm and the certainty in his footsteps despite his buckling body. So with hope, they set their sights beyond the bowed metal catwalk to the soothing darkness somewhere ahead. And even when their smiles slipped from their lips from the effort and Blythe felt her own body beginning to protest in loud shouts and chilling aches, they fought their way forward, step by step.

At last, Magnus lurched the last few inches to catch himself against the wall. His grunt of effort fell muffled as the base of her hand slapped the button and the doors opened with a hiss. He limped inside, shifting away to relieve her, his arm retaining the barest of contact. Her shoulders cracked with his sudden and unexpected absence, the loss both a relief and dull ache. She skimmed her fingers over the wall, never once glancing away from him, fumbling briefly for the button that finally sent them into blessed darkness. 

For a moment, they seemed a lifetime away from the war. They could be anything. Anywhere. Anyone. The light from the lift was ghostly, a pale echo of sunshine. It cast a halo to his skin, a dull glint of moonlight. Blythe worked quickly to memorize his face and features, the heavy rain clouds of gray eyes, rumpled black hair with ends that kissed her fingers that had found themselves at the junction of his shoulder, the untrimmed scruff of stubble that played at a longer beard. Thin lips made for scowls instead of smiles, bloody knuckles and calloused hands, the few inches he had on her which forced him to look down so his neck creased beneath her gentle fingers. His pulse jumped at her touch and he exhaled a measured breath. He smelled like the leather of his favorite jacket, cool rain on a hot day, and the harsher scent of burnt skin.

Her lips parted and the warmth of his hand bloomed against her hip. The shadows rippled over them, the easing of the tide over worn stone. Their breaths clashed and for a long time, neither of them moved. Then, there in the dark, his mouth pressed gently to hers. She tasted the words they refused to utter aloud and the cosmic sheen of broken stars.

When the doors opened, neither of them moved, frozen in the stillness and the timelessness of the moment.  _ This is you giving me something to hope for _ . As though, if they stayed here in the darkness and quiet, then there wouldn’t be a world to face outside. There would be no dead and no dying. There would be no mistakes and no regrets and no apologies. There would them. A thousand moments and promises of forever. A real hope beyond words that this, right here, this wasn’t it. Not for the Alliance. Not for the rebellion. Not for them.

Instead, she positioned his arm back around her neck, hers around his waist, fingers in a tight grip around his wrist. Together, they stepped off the lift, trudged their way down the hall, and finally stepped into the light.

It didn’t taste like victory, walking past the dead and in the vague direction of Platform 9, though they both must have known that there wouldn’t be a waiting ship or Theo. Maybe he’d escaped. Maybe they all had. Even Irie, who’d told Magnus goodbye and had left them in a storm of shots and sparks crackling over comms. She doubted it, but it was nice to look that kind of certain belief in the eyes and smile into the delusion of a better, kinder world. 

The sky glowed gold, as though someone had shaken the heavens loose, and she had to swallow the urge to let out a hysterical laugh. Behind them the debris fell in silver showers and made the ground they’d traveled across tremble, as the horizon was upended. The shot from the weapon still crackled on the air, an energy that was indescribable.  _ You can take the evidence, you can take our lives, but you can’t ever take what we did _ , Blythe thought and stared at the end of their world.  _ It’s too late _ .  _ Maybe for us, maybe for you, but it’s too damn late _ .

Magnus, who’d been too focused on putting one foot in front of the other, sank to his knees and took her with him. He was looking at what was coming. She was looking past it. 

Blythe could feel every granule of sand scratching at the patch of skin above her ankles where her pants didn’t cover, Magnus’s lingering heat as he slipped from her arms and her touch barely grazed his knee, the sting of every drawn breath that burned and scorched and razed. Was this what it meant to be alive? To feel everything so precisely and perfectly, as though she’d never had the nerve to really look, to really let herself feel until this exact moment? Had Aiza, Oliver, and Rowan felt the same way, watching the horizon come to swallow them? Had Irie as they pierced her metal? Had Morrison, Nasir, Theo, and every rebel who’d lost their lives felt this? Blythe thought that maybe they had and that would connect them in a way, beyond what this fight had.

“Your father would have been proud of you, Blythe.” Magnus said and the gravel of his voice was thick. She turned away from the gathering wave of the light beyond the ocean to look at him. There weren’t tears in his eyes, but that was somehow unsurprising. There weren't any in hers either. She reached out a hand and he took it, the barest of squeezes passing between them.  _ You gave me something to hope for _ .  _ Rebel _ .  _ Captain _ . As one, they turned back to the nearing horizon. As though they were watching the sunrise of a new day and a new hope.

For a long time they were quiet, the world groaning around them as it was forced to give up its position and readjust, taking lives with it. The waves of the shore drew back in preparation, the heat of the explosion sharp and cutting. Every breath was clogged with dust and debris in preparation for what was to come. The light only stretched towards them, tendrils like stroking rays come to comfort and take them by the hand before drawing them away to a place beyond all of this. The glare shimmered and she knew she’d been staring at it too long, because there waiting were her parents, Aiza, Rowan, Oliver, Morrison, Nasir, Theo, and a thousand others. A cosmos of others.

Blythe didn’t turn to Magnus and instead clutched his hand tighter as she spoke. The words weren’t supposed to tremble, they weren’t supposed to be desperate, but perhaps it was too much to ask to be that strong. “I won’t die on my knees.” 

“Okay, Blythe, okay.” He said, as if he hadn’t heard her voice crack and shake worse than the earth. She pretended not to hear the hollowness in his and rose to her feet. Their fingers intertwined as she helped him up to stand beside her. But he wasn’t watching the horizon anymore. “Blythe… I-I don’t think I can watch.”

“Okay.” Their eyes met for an instant and she knew that it would be the last time.  _ Gray _ , she thought,  _ gray like a summer storm. Gray like unpolished silver. Gray like this world _ .

_ I’m sorry _ , he didn’t say.  _ I’m sorry that we met too late. I’m sorry that we have to say goodbye now, though we barely said hello _ .

_ I know _ , she didn’t say.  _ And it’s okay. Maybe we didn’t get forever, but we had this and this… this was enough. It’s not perfect, but it’s enough. We were enough. You are enough _ .

_ You gave me something to hope for.  _ They both felt it, but didn’t say that either.

Blythe looped an arm around his waist to keep him upright, the second resting across his back, her fingers splayed across his shoulder. The wind whipped her hair into her face, yet left her an unhindered view of the inevitable destruction. Magnus buried his face into her shoulder, a hand fiercely tight at the base of her neck. His heartbeat kept time with hers, his other arm pulled her in closer to his chest as though he could keep her safe from the blast with nothing but his body. She could feel him struggle to keep still, to be brave and strong and everything she needed.

“Magnus,” she said, at first to taste his name one last time against her mouth. Then because she felt like they hadn’t said enough. “I’ll wait for you on the other side and we’ll go together.”

“Go where?” He rasped and a breath tingled the exposed skin of her neck. 

“Anywhere. I…This isn’t goodbye.” The light struck his back and stroked a tender branch down her cheek.  _ No _ , she thought wildly,  _ you can’t take him. You can’t. I won’t let you _ .

His grip choked her in its ferocity. “No. Not for you and me.”

The heat, the ground, the destruction, the death was too close. Magnus tensed and she knew he had opened his eyes to be met with the horrific light. Blythe laid her head against his shoulder and let it blind her.

And all that was left was stardust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I really hope you enjoyed my lengthy au and I'm excited to start posting one of my next projects (I haven't decided which one yet). I'm super grateful for anyone who read even just one chapter, you all made me smile! Thank you again <3


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